he'Uacation  of 
celuins 


W.  D.  HOW  ELLS 


W 


I;   1 


THE    VACATION   OF   THE    KELWYNS 


BOOKS  BY  W.  D.  HOWELLS 


Annie  Kilburn.     12mo. 

April  Hopes.     12mo. 

Between  tin-  Park  and  Daylight.     New 

Edition.     12mo. 
Boy  Life.     Illustrated.     12mo. 
Boy's   Town.     Illustrated.     Past   Svo. 
Certain     Delightful     English     Towns. 

Illustrated.     8vo. 

Traveler's  Edition,  Leather. 
Christinas     Every     Day,     and    Other 

Stories. 

Holiday  Edition.     Illustrated.     4to. 
Const  of  Bohemia.     Illustrated.     12mo. 
Critioismand  Fiction.     Portrait.  IGino. 
Daughter  of  the  Storage. 
Hay    of    Their    Wedding.     Illustrated. 

12mo. 
Familiar  Spanish  Travels.     Illustrated. 

Svo. 
Fennel    and    Rue.     Illustrated.     New 

Edition.     12mo. 

Flight  of  Pony  Baker.     Post  Svo. 
Hazard  of  New  Fortunes.     New  Edi 
tion.     12mo. 
Heroines    of    Fiction.     Illustrated. 

2  vols.     Svo. 
Hither     and     Thither     In     Germany. 

Post  Svo. 

Imaginary   Interviews.     Svo. 
Imperative  Duty.     12mo. 

Taper. 
Impressions     and     Experiences.     New 

Edition.     12mo. 
Kontons.      12mo. 
Landlord  at  Lion's  Head.     Illustrated. 

New  Edition.  12mo. 
Letters  Home.  12mo. 
Literary  Friends  and  Acquaintance. 

Illustrated.      Svo. 
Literature  and  Life.      Svo. 
Little     Swiss    Sojourn.     Illustrated. 

32mo. 
London  Films.     Illustrated.     Svo. 

Traveler'*  Edition,  leather. 
Miss    Bellard's    Inspiration.     12mo. 
Modern      Italian      Pools.      Illustrated. 

12mo. 
Mother   and    the   Father.     Illustrated. 

New  Edition.     12mo. 


My  Literary  Passions.     New  Edition. 
12mo. 

My   Mark   Twain.      Illustrated.     Svo. 

My  Year  in  a  Log  Cabin.     Illustrated. 
32mo. 

Opon-Eyed  Conspiracy.     12mo. 

Pair  of  Patient  Lovers.     12mo. 

Quality     of      Mercy.     New     Edition. 
12mo. 

Questionable    Shapes.     Ill'd.     12mo. 

Ragged  Lady.      Illustrated.     New  Edi 
tion.     12mo. 

Roman    Holidays.      Illustrated.     Svo. 
Traveler's   Kdition,  leather. 

Seven  English  Cities.      Illustrated.  Svo. 
Traveler's    Edition,    leather. 

Shadow  of  a   Dream.     12mo. 

Son  of  Royal   Langbrith.     Svo. 

Stops  of   Various    Quills.     Illustrated. 
4to. 
Limited  Edition. 

Story  of  a  Play.     12mo. 

Their  Silver  Wedding  Journey.     Illus 
trated.     '2  vols.     Crown  Svo. 
In    1    vol.     New    Edition.     12mo. 

Through  the  Eye  of  a  Needle.     New 
Edition.     12mo. 

Traveller    from    Altruria.     New    Edi 
tion.     12mo. 

World   of   Chance.     12mo. 

Years  of  My  Youth.     Illustrated  Edi 
tion. 


FARCES: 

A  Tx»tter  of  Introduction.     Illustrated. 

32mo. 

A    Likely    Story.     Illustrated.     32mo. 
A    Previous    Engagement.     32mo. 

Paper. 

Evening  Dross.      Illustrated.     32mo. 
Five-o'Clock  Tea.      Illustrated.    32mo. 
Parting    Friends.       Illustrated.      32mo. 
The  Albany  Depot.    Illustrated.   32mo. 
The      (iHrrotors.      Illustrated.     32mo. 
The  Mouse- Trap.     Illustrated.     32mo. 
The    Unexpected   Guests.     Illustrated. 

32mo. 


WILLIAM   DEAN   HOWELLS 


THE  VACATION 
OF  THE  KELWYNS 

An  Idyl  of  the  Middle 
Eighteen-Seventies 

By 
WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


THB  VACATION  OP  THE  KELWYNS 


Copyright,  1920,  by  Harper  &   Brothers 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


. 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 


442643 


THE    VACATION   OF   THE    KELWYNS 

AN  IDYL 
OF  THE    MIDDLE    EIGHTEEN-SEVENTIES 


KELWYN'S  salary  as  a  lecturer  in  the  post-graduate 
courses  would  not  have  been  enough  for  his  family  to 
live  upon;  but  his  wife  had  some  money  of  her  own, 
and  this  with  his  salary  enabled  them  to  maintain 
themselves  upon  the  scale  of  refined  frugality  which 
was  the  rule  in  the  university  town,  and  to  indulge, 
now  and  then,  a  guarded  hospitality.  Like  the  other 
university  people,  they  spent  their  whole  income  on 
their  living,  except  the  sum  which  Kelwyn  paid  for 
his  life  insurance.  They  kept  two  maids,  and  had,  in 
common  with  four  other  university  families,  the  use  of 
one  undivided  one-fifth  of  a  man,  who  took  care  of 
their  furnace  and  shovelled  the  snow  off  their  paths  in 
winter,  and  cut  their  grass  in  the  spring  and  fall;  in 
the  summer  when  they  were  away  they  let  the  grass 
tangle  at  will. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  passed  this  season  largely  in  a  terror 
of  moths,  especially  the  hairy  sort  called  buffalo-bugs, 
which  began  to  introduce  themselves  by  that  name  at 
the  date  of  our  story.  In  dreams  and  in  many  a  fear 
ful  revery  she  saw  them  gorging  themselves  upon  her 


THE;  J'AC:A;TIQN'  'OF    THE    KELWYNS 

carpets  and  furniture  and  blankets  and  all  her  other 
woollens,  and  treating  the  camphor  the  things  were  put 
up  in  as  an  agreeable  condiment.  She  was,  in  fact,  a 
New  England  housekeeper  of  the  most  exacting  sort, 
with  a  conscience  that  gave  those  she  loved  very  little 
peace,  in  its  manifold  scruples,  anxieties,  and  premoni 
tions.  She  was  so  far  in  the  divine  confidence  as  to 
be  able  to  prophesy  events  with  much  precision,  es 
pecially  disastrous  events,  and  especially  disastrous 
events  which  her  husband  thought  would  not  come  to 
pass.  In  this,  as  in  other  things,  she  was  entirely  de 
voted  to  him  and  to  their  children;  to  hear  her  talk 
you  would  suppose  there  was  a  multitude  of  them. 

She  pampered  Kelwyn  and  flattered  him,  and  she 
did  what  she  could  to  make  him  believe  that  because 
he  had,  after  many  years  as  a  post-graduate  student,  be 
come  a  post-graduate  lecturer,  he  was  something  dif 
ferent  from  other  men,  and  merited  attention  from 
destiny.  He  was  really  a  very  well-read  and  careful 
scholar  in  his  department  of  Historical  Sociology,  with 
no  thought  of  applying  his  science  to  his  own  life  or 
conduct.  In  person,  he  was  not  tall,  but  he  was  very 
straight ;  he  carried  himself  with  a  sort  of  unintentional 
pomp,  and  walked  with  short,  stiff  steps.  He  was  rather 
dim  behind  the  spectacles  he  wore;  but  he  was  very 
pleasant  when  he  spoke,  and  his  mind  was  not  as  dry 
as  his  voice;  when  pushed  to  the  wall  he  was  capable 
of  a  joke;  in  fact,  he  had  a  good  deal  of  ancestral 
Yankee  humor  which  he  commonly  repressed,  but  which 
came  out  in  the  stress  put  upon  him  by  his  wife's  requi 
sitions  in  hypothetical  cases  of  principle  and  practice. 
He  suffered  at  times  from  indigestion;  but  he  was  in- 
defatigably  industrious,  and  had  thought  the  blond  hair 
thin  on  his  head  in  places ;  he  wore  a  reddish  mustache. 
He  was  either  not  quite  so  tall  as  his  wife,  or  he  looked 

2 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

not  quite  so  tall,  because  of  her  skirts,  and  her  aquiline 
profile;  she  seemed  always  to  have  him  in  charge  when 
they  were  together,  which  made  him  appear  smaller 
still ;  they  were  both  of  about  the  same  blondness,  though 
hers  tended  rather  more  to  dust  color. 

Kelwyn's  father  had  been  first  a  farm  boy,  and  then 
a  country  merchant,  who  reserved  him  for  an  intel 
lectual  career;  and  his  career  since  he  first  entered 
school  had  been  as  purely  intellectual  as  if  he  had 
been  detached  from  the  soil  by  generations  of  culture 
and  affluence.  His  associations  had  always  been  with 
nice  people,  in  college  and  afterward;  he  liked  that 
sort,  and  they  liked  him,  for  Kelwyn  was  a  pleasant 
fellow,  and  was  noticeably  a  gentleman,  if  not  a  gentle 
man  by  birth.  In  America  society  does  not  insist  that 
one  shall  be  a  gentleman  by  birth;  that  is  generally 
impossible;  but  it  insists  that  he  shall  be  intelligent 
and  refined,  and  have  the  right  sort  of  social  instincts ; 
and  then  it  yields  him  an  acceptance  which  ignores  any 
embarrassing  facts  in  his  origin,  and  asks  nothing  but 
that  he  shall  ignore  them  too.  Kelwyn  did  this  so  com 
pletely  that  he  never  thought  of  them.  His  father  and 
mother  were  now  dead,  and  he  had  been  an  only  child, 
so  that  he  had  not  even  a  duty  to  the  past.  All  his 
duties  were  to  the  present,  and  they  were  so  agreeable 
that  he  could  easily  discharge  them  with  conscience  and 
credit.  In  a  day  when  people  were  just  beginning  to 
look  into  sociology,  and  most  people  were  still  regarding 
it  as  the  driest  branch  on  the  tree  of  knowledge,  he 
made  it  one  of  the  most  important  of  the  post-graduate 
courses  at  the  university.  The  students  liked  him,  and 
they  took  such  a  gratifying  interest  in  their  work  under 
him  that  some  of  them  had  a  habit,  which  he  encour 
aged,  of  coming  to  talk  with  him  about  it  at  his  house 
out  of  hours.  Pie  made  them  very  welcome  in  his  li- 

3 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

brary,  and  even  offered  to  offer  them  cigars,  which  they 
refused  out  of  regard  to  Kelwyn' s  not  smoking  himself ; 
and  when  one  of  them  would  begin,  "  Do  you  think, 
Mr.  Kelwyn,"  and  then  go  on  to  ask  him  some  question 
on  one  of  his  favorite  points  in  the  morning's  lecture, 
Kelwyn  would  feel  that  his  office  was  a  very  high  one, 
and  could  not  be  magnified  too  much. 

His  wife  often  wished  that  the  faculty  and  the  board 
of  overseers  could  know  the  influence  he  had  with  the 
students;  but,  in  fact,  Kelwyn's  usefulness  was  well 
known  to  them,  and  his  promotion  to  an  under- 
professorship  in  the  body  of  the  university  was  only 
a  question  of  time.  He  was  respected  outside  of  the 
university  as  well  as  in  it.  In  politics  he  was  a  re 
former,  and  he  was  faithful  in  a  good  deal  of  com 
mittee  work,  when  his  college  work  alone  was  killing 
him.  as  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said  more  than  once.  She  her 
self  did  not  shirk  a  share  in  the  local  charities,  and 
she  would  have  done  more  in  that  way,  if  she  had  not 
felt  that  Mr.  Kelwyn  and  the  children  had  the  first 
claim  upon  her. 


II 


ROBUST  health,  would  not  have  been  in  keeping  with 
Kelwyn's  vocation  or  circumstances;  but  his  digestion 
was  not  so  delicate  as  Mrs.  Kelwyn  believed  when  she 
took  him  every  summer  away  from  the  well-netted  com 
fort  of  his  study  (they  had  wire  nettings  at  every  door 
and  window  of  the  house,  and  even  over  the  tops  of  the 
chimneys,  for  it  had  been  found  that  mosquitoes  some 
times  got  in  down  the  flues)  and  set  him  unnetted  amid 
the  insects  of  the  open  country.  She  had  thought  a  great 
deal  about  the  best  places  to  go  to,  and  she  had  gone  to 
a  great  many  places,  each  better  in  prospect  and  worse 
in  retrospect  than  the  other,  but  sufficing,  for  the  time, 
to  hold  Kelwyn  from  his  books,  and  give  him  what  she 
called  a  rest;  he  felt  it  as  an  anguish  of  longing  to  get 
back  to  his  work.  They  had  not  as  yet  imagined  hav 
ing  a  country  house  of  their  own,  such  as  nearly  every 
body  of  their  condition  has  now ;  even  the  summer  shell 
was  little  known  in  the  early  eighteen-seventies,  and 
the  cheap  and  simple  cottages  of  the  better  sort  common 
in  our  day  were  undreamed  of.  Like  other  nice  fam 
ilies  of  their  circumstance  and  acquaintance,  thirty  or 
thirty-five  years  ago,  the  Kelwyns  engaged  board  during 
the  winter  at  some  farm-house  in  the  Massachusetts  or 
New  Hampshire  hill  country,  going  up  to  look  at  the 
place  on  a  mild  day  of  the  January  thaw,  and  settling 
themselves  in  it  early  in  June.  Their  understanding 
would  be  for  good  beds  and  plain  country  fare,  with 

plenty  of  milk  and  eggs  and  berries;  and  they  would 

5 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

get  mattresses  of  excelsior  faced  on  one  side  with  refuse 
wool;  and  premature  beef  and  tardy  lamb,  with  last 
year's  potatoes,  and  no  leaf  of  the  contemporary  vege 
tation  till  far  into  July.  Kelwyn  himself  had  a  respite 
from  all  this  during  commencement  week,  when  he  went 
home  and  slept  in  his  own  dwelling,  taking  his  meals 
at  the  nearest  boarding-house,  where  they  had  the  spring 
fruits  and  vegetables,  tender  steak,  and  cream  such  as 
never  appeared  upon  the  unstinted  milk  of  the  farm. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn's  ideal  was  a  place  where  there  were 
no  other  boarders,  and  where  they  could  have  their 
meals  at  a  table  of  their  own,  apart  from  the  farmer's 
family;  but  even  when  she  could  realize  this  it  was 
not  in  the  perfection  that  her  nerves  demanded.  If  she 
made  Kelwyn  take  all  the  rooms  in  the  house,  still  there 
was  some  nook  where  the  farmer's  wife  contrived  to 
stow  a  boarder  who  ate  with  the  farm  family,  or  a  visit 
ing  friend  who  woke  the  Kelwyns  at  dawn  with  the 
plaint  of  the  parlor  organ ;  the  rest  of  the  day  they  had 
the  sole  use  of  the  parlor,  and  could  keep  the  organ 
pacified.  The  farmer's  wife  imagined  that  she  had 
fulfilled  the  agreement  for  a  private  table  when  she 
had  put  everything  on  it  at  once,  and  shut  the  Kelwyns 
in  to  take  care  of  themselves.  After  the  first  relay  of 
griddle  -  cakes  she  expected  them  to  come  out  to  the 
kitchen  for  the  next;  and  to  get  hot  water  from  the 
kettle  and  cold  water  from  the  pump,  as  they  needed 
either.  Kelwyn  did  not  mind  this  so  much  as  his  wife, 
who  minded  it  chiefly  for  his  sake  as  wholly  out  of 
keeping  with  the  dignity  of  a  university  lecturer;  for 
it  fell  to  him  mostly  to  do  these  things. 

In  the  last  place  she  had  so  often  undergone  the 
hardship  of  making  Kelwyn  hurry  out  untimely  in 
the  morning  to  fill  the  wash-pitcher,  forgotten  over 
night  by  the  hostess,  that  she  was  quite  disheartened, 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

and  came  home  in  the  fall  feeling  that  she  must  give 
up  the  notion  of  farm  board  thereafter,  and  try  to  find 
some  small  hotel  not  too  public  and  not  too  expensive 
for  them.  The  winter  passed  and  the  spring  was  well 
advanced,  and  still  they  had  not  found  just  such  a  hotel 
as  they  wanted,  though  they  had  asked  among  all  the 
nice  people  they  knew,  and  Kelwyn  had  looked  several 
of  the  places  up.  He  would  have  been  willing  to  try 
another  farm-house,  and  still  more  willing  to  pass  the 
summer  in  town,  under  his  own  well-shaded  roof;  but 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  was  not  willing  to  do  either,  and  he  was 
by  no  means  resting  from  his  search,  but  merely  re 
joicing  in  a  little  respite,  when  one  day  he  received  a 
very  odd  visit. 

This  visit  was  paid  him  by  a  quaintly  dressed  old 
man,  who  said  he  was  an  Elder  of  the  people  called 
Shakers,  and  that  he  had  come  to  Kelwyn  because  of 
some  account  he  had  read  of  the  kind  of  work  he  was 
doing  in  the  university,  and  had  thought  he  would  bo 
pleased,  in  his  quality  of  lecturer  on  Historical  So 
ciology,  to  know  something  of  the  social  experiment  of 
the  Shakers.  It  presently  appeared  that  he  had  counted 
so  much  upon  Kelwyn's  interest  in  it  as  to  believe  that 
he  might  make  it  the  theme  of  a  lecture,  and  he  had 
come  with  a  little  printed  tract  on  the  Shaker  life  and 
doctrine  which  he  had  written  himself,  and  which  he 
now  gave  Kelwyn  with  the  hope,  very  politely  expressed, 
that  it  might  be  useful  to  him  in  the  preparation  of  his 
lectures.  The  whole  affair  was  to  Kelwyn's  mind  so 
full  of  a  sweet  innocence  that  he  felt  it  invited  the  most 
delicate  handling  on  his  part,  and  he  used  all  the  nice- 
ness  he  was  master  of  in  thanking  the  old  man  for  his 
pamphlet,  without  giving  him  the  expectation  that  he 
would  really  treat  of  Shakerism  before  the  students  of 
his  post-graduate  course.  Inwardly  he  was  filled  with 

7 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

amusement  at  the  notion  of  his  august  science  stooping 
to  inquire  into  such  a  lowly  experiment  as  that  of  those 
rustic  communists;  but  outwardly  he  treated  it  with 
grave  deference,  and  said  that  he  should  have  the  great 
est  pleasure  in  reading  the  pamphlet  of  the  Elder.  He 
was  curious  enough  to  ask  some  questions  about  the 
Family  to  which  his  visitor  belonged,  and  then  about 
the  general  conditions  of  Shakerism.  It  amused  him 
again  when  his  visitor  answered,  from  a  steadfast  faith 
in  its  doctrine,  that  his  sect  was  everywhere  in  decay, 
and  that  his  own  Family  was  now  a  community  of  aging 
men  and  women,  and  must  soon  die  out  unless  it  was 
recruited  from  the  world-outside.  He  seemed  to  feel 
that  he  had  a  mission  to  the  gentler  phases  of  this  world, 
and  he  did  not  conceal  that  he  had  come  with  some  hope 
that  if  the  character  of  Shakerism  could  be  truly  set 
forth  to  such  cultivated  youth  as  must  attend  Kel- 
wyn's  lectures,  considerable  accessions  from  their  num 
ber  might  follow.  The  worst  thing  in  the  present  con 
dition  of  Shakerism,  he  said,  was  that  the  community 
was  obliged  to  violate  the  very  law  of  its  social  being, 
for  the  brethren  were  too  feeble  to  work  in  the  fields 
themselves,  and  were  forced  to  employ  hireling  labor. 
Kelwyn  learned  from  his  willing  avowals  that  they  had 
some  thousands  of  acres  which  they  could  only  let  grow 
up  in  forests  for  the  crops  of  timber  they  would  finally 
yield,  and  that  it  was  not  easy  always  to  find  tenants 
for  the  farms  they  had  to  let.  He  spoke  of  one  farm 
which  would  be  given,  with  one  of  the  Family  dwell 
ings,  to  a  suitable  tenant  at  a  rent  so  ridiculously  low 
that  Kelwyn  said,  with  a  laugh,  if  the  Shakers  would 
furnish  the  house,  though  twenty-five  rooms  were  rather 
more  than  his  family  needed,  he  did  not  know  but  he 
might  take  the  farm  himself  for  the  summer.  He  went 

into  a  little  history  of  their  experience  of  farm  board 

8 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

and  the  defeat  of  their  aspirations  for  a  house  that  they 
could  control  without  putting  the  care  of  housekeeping 
upon  his  wife ;  and  he  ended  by  confessing  that  at  the 
present  moment  they  were  without  any  prospects  what 
ever  for  the  summer. 


Ill 


THE  Elder  did  not  seem  to  enter  very  eagerly  into 
the  matter,  as  if  he  were  not  expected  to  do  so ;  he  said 
it  would  not  be  easy  to  find  just  what  they  wanted,  and 
when  he  took  his  leave  he  left  Kelwyn  with  the  feeling 
that  he  regarded  his  aspiration  with  a  certain  cautious 
disapproval.  Kelwyn  made  a  joke  of  this  to  his  wife, 
in  telling  her  of  his  visitor,  and  he  was  the  more  sur 
prised,  two  days  later,  to  get  a  letter  from  him  saying 
that  he  had  talked  over  with  the  Family  Kelwyn's 
notion  of  furnishing  the  house,  and  they  had  decided  to 
act  upon  it  if  he  was  still  disposed  to  hire  the  place  for 
a  year.  In  this  case,  the  Elder  wrote,  they  knew  of  a 
man  and  his  wife  who  would  be  willing  to  come  into 
the  house  and  board  them  at  a  much  lower  rate  than 
usual,  if  he  could  have  the  produce  of  the  farm,  and 
the  house  for  the  rest  of  the  year  after  they  left  it.  The 
rent  would  be  the  same  as  for  the  house  unfurnished. 

Kelwyn's  wife  first  provisionally  disciplined  him  for 
giving  his  correspondent  a  groundless  hope  that  he 
would  do  anything  so  wild;  but  when  he  convinced 
her  that  he  was  innocent  she  began  to  find  it  not  such 
a  bad  scheme,  and  she  ended  by  driving  him  off  that 
very  day  to  look  at  the  place,  which  was  just  over  the 
border  in  southern  New  Hampshire.  There  was  no  time 
to  be  lost,  for  the  Shakers  might  offer  it  to  somebody  else 
if  he  did  not  act  promptly.  She  made  him  telegraph 
them  that  he  was  coming,  and  the  boy  who  drove  him 
over  to  the  Shaker  village  from  the  station  carried  his 

10 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

despatch  to  them.  He  came  home  in  a  rapture  with 
the  place.  The  house,  which  had  been  left  vacant  by 
the  shrinkage  of  the  community,  was  almost  as  vast  as 
a  college  dormitory,  but  it  was  curiously  homelike  at 
the  same  time,  with  a  great  kitchen,  and  a  running 
spring  of  delicious  water  piped  into  it;  a  dining-room 
which  had  been  the  Family  refectory  and  looked  east 
ward  through  the  leaves  of  embowering  elms  across 
beautiful  country  to  Mount  Ponkwasset  in  the  dis 
tance  ;  the  choice  of  a  multitude  of  airy  bedrooms ;  and 
the  hall  where  the  Shaker  Family  used  to  dance  for  a 
parlor  or  sitting-room.  The  only  trouble  was  that  they 
might  be  lost  in  the  huge  mansion ;  but,  if  they  settled 
themselves  on  one  floor,  they  could  perhaps  find  one 
another  at  meal  -  times.  Kelwyn  drew  a  plan,  and 
showed  how  they  could  take  the  second  story,  and 
leave  the  first  to  the  farmer's  family.  The  whole  house 
was  deliciously  cool,  and  there  were  fireplaces  where 
they  could  have  a  blaze  in  chilly  weather,  and  cheer 
themselves  with  the  flame  at  night.  The  high  open 
plateau  where  the  house  stood,  not  far  from  the  Shaker 
village  which  had  dried  away  from  it,  was  swept  by 
pure  breezes  that  blew  in  at  every  window,  and  made 
mosquitoes  impossible  and  nettings  superfluous. 

"  Flies,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  suggested. 

"  I  don't  believe  there  would  be  any  flies,"  Kel 
wyn  returned;  and  then  she  accused  him  of  being 
infatuated. 

*She  felt  the  need  of  greater  strictness  with  him  be 
cause  she  knew  herself  hopelessly  taken  with  his  report, 
which  she  did  not  believe  exaggerated.  "  And  the 
farmer,  did  you  see  him  or  his  wife?  Because  that's 
the  most  important  matter." 

"  Yes,  I  understood  that.  But  they  were  not  living 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  I  couldn't  get  at  them.  The 
2  11 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

man  has  been  in  the  Shakers'  employ,  off  and  on,  and 
they  said  his  habits  were  good ;  they  described  the  wom 
an  as  a  quiet,  inoffensive  person.  They  are  people  who 
have  always  had  rather  a  hard  time,  and  have  never 
been  able  to  get  a  place  of  their  own.  They  wanted  to 
take  this  place,  but  they  didn't  feel  sure  they  could 
meet  the  rent.  I  suppose  it  would  be  a  godsend  if  we 
took  it  for  them.  But  we're  not  to  consider  that.  The 
question  is  whether  we  want  it ;  and  I  knew  we  couldn't 
decide  till  we  had  seen  the  people.  The  Shakers  thought 
they  could  send  the  man  down  in  a  day  or  two,  and 
then  we  could  satisfy  ourselves." 

"  And  you  haven't  committed  yourself  ?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Well,  you  have  managed  very  prudently,  Elmer," 
said  Mrs.  Kelwyn.  She  added  with  an  impulse  of  the 
sudden  fear  that  springs  from  security  itself,  "  I  hope 
you  haven't  lost  the  chance." 

Kelwyn  resented  the  imputation  of  overcaution,  but 
he  only  answered,  rather  loftily,  "  I  don't  think  there's 
any  danger." 

They  began  to  talk  of  it  as  an  accomplished  fact, 
and  it  grew  upon  them  in  this  vantage.  They  saw 
what  a  very  perfect  thing  it  would  be  if  it  were  the 
thing  at  all.  They  would  have  complete  control  of  the 
situation.  The  house  would  be  their  house,  and  the 
farmer  would  be  their  tenant  at  will.  If  they  did  not 
like  him  or  his  wife,  if  they  did  not  find  them  capable 
or  faithful,  they  could  turn  them  out-of-doors  any  day ; 
and  they  could  not  be  turned  out  themselves,  or  mo 
lested,  so  long  as  they  paid  the  Shakers  the  absurd  trifle 
they  asked  for  rent.  It  seemed  impossible  that  they 
could  fail  of  their  pleasure  in  such  circumstances,  but 
Mrs.  Kelwyn,  merely  in  the  interest  of  abstract  knowl 
edge,  carried  her  scrutiny  so  far  as  to  ask,  "  And  could 

12 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

you  turn  him  out  of  the  farm,  too,  if  they  didn't  do 
well  in  the  house  ?" 

Kelwyn  had  really  not  considered  this  point,  but  he 
said,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  should  think  it  quite  right 
to  do  that  after  the  man  had  got  his  crops  in." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  "  of  course  not,"  and  in 
a  generous  revulsion  of  feeling  she  added,  "  It  will  be 
a  great  opportunity  for  the  poor  things." 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  of  that,"  said  Kelwyn.  "  They 
will  have  their  rent  free  so  long  as  they  behave  them 
selves,  and  if  we  find  the  arrangement  works  there  is 
no  reason  why  we  should  not  continue  it  from  year  to 
year  indefinitely.  Of  course,"  he  added,  "  we  mustn't 
pretend  that  we  are  making  the  arrangement  on  their 
account.  We  are  primarily  doing  it  for  ourselves." 

"  Yes,  charity  begins  at  home,"  said  Mrs.  Kelwyn, 
thoughtfully,  but  there  was  a  vague  dissatisfaction  in 
her  voice. 

Kelwyn  smiled.  "  Were  you  thinking  it  didn't  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  Why,  yes,"  she  answered,  as  if  surprised  into  the 
admission.  "  Were  you,  too  ?" 

"  It  struck  me  as  rather  a  hollow-hearted  saying ;  I 
don't  know  why.  I  never  questioned  it  before.  But  I 
fancy  it's  something  else  that  begins  at  home,  and  that 
charity  begins  away  from  home." 

"  I  don't  believe  it's  very  well  to  look  at  those  things 
in  that  spirit  exactly,"  said  Mrs.  Kelwyn.  "  We  can 
make  anything  appear  ugly  by  putting  it  in  a  strange 
light.  Besides,  I  don't  think  that  this  is  a  matter  of 
charity,  quite." 

"  No,  it's  most  distinctly  a  matter  of  business.  Ethi 
cally  considered,  it  is  merely  a  thing  that  is  right  in  it 
self,  and  the  good  that  may  flow  from  it  is  none  the  less 
good  for  being  incidental.  That  is  the  way  that  most 

13 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

of  the  good  in  the  world  has  come  about.  The  history 
of  civilization  is  that  of  certain  people  who  wished  to 
better  their  own  condition,  and  made  others  wish  to  do 
the  same  by  the  spectacle  of  their  success."  Kelwyn 
made  a  mental  note  of  his  notion  for  use  in  a  lecture. 
It  seemed  to  him  novel,  but  he  must  think  a  little  more 
whether  it  was  tenable.  Perhaps  he  could  throw  it  out 
in  the  form  of  a  suggestion. 

His  wife  could  not  dwell  in  the  region  of  speculation 
even  with  him ;  it  is  perhaps  the  weakness  of  their  sex 
that  obliges  women  to  secure  themselves  in  the  practical. 
She  said,  "  Well,  then,  all  we  can  do  is  to  wait  until 
the  man  comes.  Then,  if  we  think  they  can  manage 
for  us,  we  can  close  the  bargain  at  once.  But  don't 
let  the  place  slip  through  your  fingers,  Elmer.  The 
Shakers  may  have  offered  it  to  some  one  else,  and  you 
had  better  write  to  them,  and  tell  them  we  think 
very  well  of  it,  and  will  decide  as  soon  as  we  see  the 
man." 

They  talked  a  great  deal  of  the  affair  for  the  next 
day  or  two,  and  they  somehow  transmuted  the  financial 
disability  of  their  prospective  tenants  into  something 
physical;  they  formed  the  habit  of  speaking  of  them 
as  "  those  poor  little  people,"  and  with  perhaps  undue 
sense  of  their  own  advantage  they  figured  them  as  of 
anxious  and  humble  presence,  fearful  of  losing  the  great 
chance  of  their  lives.  It  was  impossible,  in  this  view 
of  them,  for  the  Kelwyns  to  intend  them  anything  but 
justice.  Without  being  sentimentalists,  they  both  saw 
that  they  must  not  abuse  those  people's  helplessness  in 
any  way.  They  decided  that  they  would  offer  to  pay 
them  the  full  amount  of  board  which  they  usually  paid 
for  board  in  the  summer,  after  taking  out,  of  course, 
a  certain  sum  for  the  rent  during  the  time  they  were 

with  them;  the  rest  of  the  year's  rent  they  would  for- 

14 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

give  them.  This  seemed  to  the  Kelwyns  very  handsome 
on  their  part,  and  the  fact  that  they  were  to  have  the 
range  of  the  whole  house,  instead  of  two  rooms,  as  they 
had  hitherto  had  at  farm-houses,  did  not  appear  to  them 
too  much  in  the  circumstances. 


THEY  had  no  right  to  complain,  but  it  certainly  did 
not  comport  with  their  prepossessions  that  the  farmer, 
when  he  came,  should  arrive  in  the  proportions  of  a 
raw-boned  giant,  with  an  effect  of  hard-woodedness,  as 
if  he  were  hewn  out  of  hickory,  with  the  shag-bark  left 
on  in  places;  his  ready-made  clothes  looked  as  hard  as 
he.  He  had  on  his  best  behavior  as  well  as  his  best 
clothes,  but  the  corners  of  his  straight  wide  mouth 
dropped  sourly  at  moments,  and  Kelwyn  fancied  both 
contempt  and  suspicion  in  his  bony  face,  which  was 
tagged  with  a  harsh  black  beard.  Those  unpleasant 
corners  of  his  month  were  accented  by  tobacco  stain, 
for  he  had  a  form  of  the  tobacco  habit  uncommon  in 
"New  England ;  his  jaw  worked  unceasingly  with  a  slow, 
bovine  grind ;  but  when  the  moment  came,  after  a  first 
glance  at  Kelwyn's  neat  fireplace,  he  rose  and  spat  out 
of  the  window ;  after  Mrs.  Kelwyn  joined  them  in  her 
husband's  study,  he  made  errands  to  the  front  door  for 
the  purpose  of  spitting. 

Kelwyn  expected  that  she  would  give  him  a  sign  of 
her  instant  rejection  of  the  whole  scheme  at  sight  of 
the  man,  who  had  inspired  him  with  a  deep  disgust; 
but  to  his  surprise  she  did  nothing  of  the  kind;  she 
even  placated  the  man,  by  a  special  civility,  as  if  she 
divined  in  him  an  instinctive  resentment  of  her  hus 
band's  feeling.  She  made  him  sit  down  in  a  better 
place  than  Kelwyn  had  let  him  take,  and  she  inspired 
him  to  volunteer  an  explanation  of  his  coming  alone, 

in  the  statement  he  had  already  made  to  Kelwyn,  that 

16 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

he  guessed  the  Woman  would  have  come  with  him, 
but  the  Boy  had  got  a  pretty  hard  cold  on  him,  and  she 
was  staying  at  home  to  fix  him  up. 

Kelwyn  said,  to  put  a  stop  to  the  flow  of  sympathy 
which  followed  from  his  wife,  that  he  had  been  trying 
to  ask  Mr.  Kite  something  about  the  cooking,  but  he 
thought  he  had  better  leave  her  to  make  the  inquiries. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  brightly.  "  You  can  give  us 
light  bread,  I  suppose  ?" 

The  man  smiled  scornfully,  and  looked  round  as  if 
taking  an  invisible  spectator  into  the  joke,  and  said,  "  I 
guess  the  Woman  can  make  it  for  you;  I  never  toucH 
it  myself.  We  have  hot  biscuit." 

"  We  should  like  hot  bread  too,  now  and  then,"  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  said. 

"  You  can  have  it  every  meal,  same's  we  do,"  the 
man  said. 

"  We  shouldn't  wish  to  give  Mrs.  Kite  so  much 
trouble,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  remarked,  without  apparent 
surprise  at  the  luxury  proposed.  "  I  suppose  she  is 
used  to  broiling  steak,  and — " 

"  Always  fry  our'n,"  the  man  said,  "  but  I  guess  she 
can  broil  it  for  you." 

"  I  merely  thought  I  would  speak  of  it.  We  don't 
care  much  for  pies ;  but  we  should  like  a  simple  pudding 
now  and  then ;  though,  really,  with  berries  of  all  kinds, 
and  the  different  fruits  as  they  come,  we  shall  scarcely 
need  any  other  desserts.  We  should  expect  plenty  of 
good  sweet  milk,  and  we  don't  like  to  stint  ourselves 
with  the  cream.  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Kite  will  know  how 
to  cook  vegetables  nicely." 

"  Well,"  the  farmer  said,  turning  away  from  the  Kel- 
wyns  to  his  invisible  familiar  for  sympathy  in  his  scorn, 
"  what  my  wife  don't  know  about  cookin',  I  guess  ain't 
wo'th  knowin'." 

17 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"Because,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  continued,  "we  shall  al 
most  live  upon  vegetables." 

"  I  mean  to  put  in  a  garden  of  'em — pease,  beans,  and 
squash,  and  sweet-corn,  and  all  the  rest  of  'em.  You 
sha'n't  want  for  vegetables.  You've  tasted  the  Shaker 
cookin'  ?" 

"  My  husband  dined  with  them  the  day  he  was  up 
there." 

"  Then  he  knows  what  Shaker  cookin'  is.  So  do  we. 
And  I  guess  my  wife  ain't  goin'  to  fall  much  below  it, 
if  any." 

He  looked  round  once  more  to  his  familiar  in  boast 
ful  contempt,  and  even  laughed.  Kelwyn's  mouth  wa 
tered  at  the  recollection  of  the  Shaker  table,  so  simple, 
so  wholesome,  and  yet  so  varied  and  appetizing,  at  a 
season  when  in  the  absence  of  fresh  garden  supplies 
art  had  to  assist  nature  so  much. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  very  well  off,"  said  Mrs. 
Kelwyn.  "  We  shall  bring  our  own  tea — English  break 
fast  tea." 

"  Never  heard  of  it,"  Kite  interrupted.  "  We  al 
ways  have  Japan  tea.  But  you  can  bring  whatever  you 
want  to.  Guess  we  sha'n't  steal  it."  This  seemed  to 
be  a  joke,  and  he  laughed  at  it. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  in  deprecation  of  the 
possibility  that  she  might  have  given  the  ground  for 
such  a  pleasantry.  "  Well,  I  think  I  have  spoken  of 
everything,  and  now  I  will  leave  you  two  to  arrange 
terms." 

"  !Nb,  no !  Don't  go !"  her  husband  entreated. 
"  We'd  better  all  talk  it  over  together  so  that  I  can 
be  sure  that  I  am  right." 

"  That's  the  way  I  do  with  my  wife,"  Kite  said,  with 
a  laugh  of  approval. 

The  Kelwyns,  with  each  other's  help,  unfolded  to 

18 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

him  what  they  had  proposed  doing.  As  they  did  so, 
it  seemed  to  them  both  a  very  handsome  proposal,  and 
they  were  aware  of  having  considered  themselves  much 
less  in  it  than  they  had  feared.  As  it  appeared  now, 
they  had  thought  so  much  more  of  their  tenants  than 
they  had  imagined  that  if  it  had  not  been  too  late  they 
might  have  wished  they  had  thought  less.  Afterward 
they  felt  that  they  had  not  kept  many  of  the  advantages 
they  might  very  well  have  kept,  though  again  they  de 
cided  that  this  was  an  effect  from  their  failure  to  stipu 
late  them,  and  that  they  remained  in  their  hands  never 
theless. 

Kite  sat  listening  with  silent  intensity.  He  winked 
his  hard  eyes  from  time  to  time,  but  he  gave  no  other 
sign  of  being  dazzled  by  their  proposal. 

"  You  understand  ?"  Kelwyn  asked,  to  break  the  si 
lence  which  the  farmer  let  ensue  when  he  ended. 

"  I  guess  so,"  Kite  answered,  dryly.  "  I'll  have  to 
talk  to  the  woman  about  it.  You  must  set  it  down,  so 
I  can  show  it  to  her  the  way  you  said." 

"  Certainly,"  Kelwyn  said,  and  he  hastily  jotted 
down  the  points  and  handed  the  paper  to  Kite;  it  did 
not  enter  into  Kite's  scheme  of  civility  to  rise  and  take 
it.  He  sat  holding  the  paper  in  his  hand  and  staring 
at  it. 

"  I  believe  that's  right  ?"  Kelwyn  suggested. 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  Kite. 

"  I  don't  believe,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  interposed,  "  that 
Mr.  Kite  can  make  it  out  in  your  handwriting,  my  dear. 
You  do  write  such  a  hand !" 

"Well,  I  guess  I  will  have  to  get  you  to  read  it," 
Kite  said,  reaching  the  paper  to  Kelwyn,  without  rising, 
but  letting  him  rise  to  get  it. 

Kelwyn  read  it  carefully  over,   dwelling  on   each 

point.    Kite  kept  a  wooden  immobility ;  but  when  Kel- 

19 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

wyn  had  finished  he  reared  his  length  from  the  lounge 
where  it  had  been  half  folded,  and  put  his  hat  on. 
"  Well,  I'll  show  this  to  the  woman  when  I  get  back, 
and  we'll  let  you  know  how  we  feel  about  it.  Well, 
good-morning."  He  got  himself  out  of  the  house  with 
no  further  ceremony,  and  the  Kelwyns  remained  staring 
at  each  other  in  a  spell  which  they  found  it  difficult  to 
break. 

"  Don't  you  suppose  he  could  read  it  ?"  she  asked,  in. 
a  kind  of  a  gasp. 

"  I  have  my  doubts,"  said  Kelwyn. 

"  He  didn't  seem  to  like  the  terms,  did  you 
think?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  feel  as  if  we  had  been  proposing 
to  become  his  tenants,  and  had  been  acting  rather  greedi 
ly  in  the  matter." 

"  Yes,  that  was  certainly  the  effect.  Do  you  believe 
we  offended  him  in  some  way?  I  don't  think  I  did, 
for  I  was  most  guarded  in  everything  I  said ;  and  un 
less  you  went  against  the  grain  with  him  before  I  came 
down — " 

"  I  was  butter  in  a  lordly  dish  to  him,  before  you 
came  down,  my  dear !" 

"  I  don't  know.  You  were  letting  him  sit  in  a  very 
uncomfortable  chair,  and  I  had  to  think  to  put  him  on 
your  lounge.  And  now,  we're  not  sure  that  he  will  ac 
cept  the  terms." 

"  Not  till  he  has  talked  it  over  with  the  '  woman.' 
I  almost  wish  that  the  woman  would  refuse  us." 

"  It  gives  us  a  chance  to  draw  back,  too.  He  was 
certainly  very  disagreeable,  though  I  don't  believe  he 
meant  it.  He  may  have  been  merely  uncouth.  And, 
after  all,  it  doesn't  matter  about  him.  We  shall  never 
see  him  or  have  anything  to  do  with  him,  indoors.  He 

will  have  to  hitch  up  the  horse  for  us,  and  bring  it  to 

20 


THE  VACATION  OE  THE  KELWYNS 

the  door,  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  it.     I  wish  we 
knew  something  about  her,  though." 

"  He  seemed  to  think  his  own  knowing  was  enough/' 
Kelwyn  mused.  "  She  is  evidently  perfection — in  his 
eyes." 

"Yes,  his  pride  in  her  was  touching,"  said  Mrs. 
Kelwyn.  "  That  was  the  great  thing  about  him.  As 
soon  as  that  came  out,  it  atoned  for  everything.  You 
can  see  that  she  twists  him  round  her  finger." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  that's  a  merit  or  not." 

"  It's  a  great  merit  in  such  a  man.  She  is  probably 
his  superior  in  every  way.  You  can  see  how  he  looks 
up  to  her." 

"  Yes,"  Kelwyn  admitted,  rather  absently.  "  Did 
you  have  a  feeling  that  he  didn't  exactly  look  up  to 
us?" 

"  He  despised  us,"  said  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  very  promptly. 
"  But  that  doesn't  mean,  that  he  won't  use  us  well.  I 
have  often  noticed  that  in  country  people,  even  when 
they  are  much  smoother  than  he  was,  and  I  have  noticed 
it  in  working-people  of  all  kinds.  They  do  despise  us, 
and  I  don't  believe  they  respect  anybody  but  working- 
people,  really,  though  they're  so  glad  to  get  out  of  work 
ing  when  they  can.  They  think  we're  a  kind  of  chil 
dren,  or  fools,  because  we  don't  know  how  to  do  things 
with  our  hands,  and  all  the  culture  in  us  won't  change 
them.  I  could  see  that  man's  eye  taking  in  your  books 
and  manuscripts,  and  scorning  them." 

"  I  don't  know  but  you're  right,  Carry,  and  it  is 
very  curious.  It's  a  thing  that  hasn't  been  taken  into 
account  in  our  studies  of  the  conditions.  We  always 
suppose  that  the  superiors  despise  the  inferiors,  but  per 
haps  it  is  really  the  inferiors  that  despise  the  superiors, 
and  it's  that  which  embitters  the  classes  against  one 
another." 

21 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Well/'  said  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  "  what  I  hope  is  that  the 
wife  may  have  education  enough  to  tolerate  us,  if  we're 
to  be  at  their  mercy." 

"  I  hope  she  can  read  writing,  anyway,"  Kelwyn 
said.  "  And  it's  droll,  but  you've  hit  it  in  what  you 
say ;  it's  been  growing  on  me,  too,  that  they  will  have  us 
at  their  mercy.  I  had  fancied  that  we  were  to  have 
them  at  ours." 

The  scheme  looked  more  and  more  doubtful  to  the 
Kelwyns.  There  were  times  when  they  woke  together 
in  the  night,  and  confessed  the  same  horror  of  it,  and 
vowed  each  other  to  break  it  off.  Yet  when  daylight 
came  it  always  looked  very  simple,  and  it  had  so  many 
alluring  aspects  that  they  smiled  at  their  nightly  terrors. 
It  was  true,  after  all,  that  they  could  command  the 
situation,  and  whether  they  cared  to  turn  the  Kites  out 
of  the  farm  or  not,  they  could  certainly  turn  them  out 
of  the  house  if  they  proved  unfit  or  unfaithful.  They 
would  have,  for  the  first  time,  a  whole  house  to  them 
selves,  for  they  should  allow  the  Kites  only  servants' 
quarters  in  it,  and  they  would  have  the  whole  vast  range 
and  space  for  very  little  more  money  than  they  had  or 
dinarily  paid  for  farm  board.  They  could  undoubtedly 
control  the  table,  and  if  the  things  were  not  good  they 
could  demand  better.  But  a  theory  of  Mrs.  Kite  grew 
upon  Mrs.  Kelwyn  the  more  she  thought  of  Kite's  faith 
in  his  wife,  which  comforted  her  in  her  misgivings. 
This  was  the  theory  of  her  comparative  superiority, 
which  Mrs.  Kelwyn  based  upon  the  probability  that  she 
could  not  possibly  be  so  ignorant  and  uncouth  as  her 
husband.  It  was,  no  doubt,  her  ambition  to  better  their 
lot  which  was  urging  him  to  take  the  farm,  and  she 
would  do  everything  she  could  to  please.  In  this  view 
of  her,  Mrs.  Kelwyn  resolved  to  meet  her  half-way; 
to  be  patient  of  any  little  failures  at  first,  and  to  teach 

22 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  countrywoman  town  ways  by  sympathy  rather  than 
by  criticism.  That  was  a  duty  she  owed  her,  and  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  meant  to  shirk  none  of  her  duties,  while  eventu 
ally  claiming  all  her  rights.  She  said  this  to  herself 
in  her  reveries,  and  she  said  it  to  her  husband  in  their 
conferences  during  the  days  that  followed  one  another 
after  Kite's  visit.  So  many  days  followed  before  he 
made  any  further  sign  that  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had  time  to 
work  completely  round  from  her  reluctance  to  close  the 
engagement  with  him,  or  his  wife,  rather,  and  to  have 
wrought  herself  into  an  eagerness  amounting  to  anxiety 
and  bordering  upon  despair  lest  the  Kites  should  not 
wish  to  close  it.  With  difficulty  she  kept  herself  from 
making  Kelwyn  write  and  offer  them  better  terms ;  she 
prevailed  with  herself  so  far,  indeed,  as  to  keep  from 
making  him  write  and  ask  for  their  decision.  When  it 
came  unurged,  however,  she  felt  that  she  had  made  such 
a  narrow  escape  that  she  must  not  risk  further  misgiv 
ings  even.  She  argued  the  best  from  the  quite  manner 
ly  and  shapely  letter  (for  a  poor  country  person)  which 
Mrs.  Kite  wrote  in  accepting  the  terms  they  offered. 
She  did  not  express  any  opinion  or  feeling  in.  regard  to 
them,  but  she  probably  knew  that  they  were  very  good ; 
and  Mrs.  Kelwyn  began  to  be  proud  of  them  again. 


IT  was  the  afternoon  of  such  a  spring  day  as  comes 
nowhere  but  in  New  England  that  the  Kelwyns  arrived 
at  their  summer  home.  There  was  a  little  edge  of  cold 
in  it,  at  four  o'clock,  which  the  bright  high  sun  did 
not  soften,  and  which  gave  a  pleasant  thrill  to  the  nerves. 
The  blue  sky  bent  over  the  earth  a  perfect  dome  with 
out  the  faintest  cloud.  The  trees,  full  f oliaged,  whistled 
in  the  gale  £hat  swept  the  land,  and  billowed  the  long 
grass,  and  tossed  the  blades  of  the  low  corn.  All  was 
sweet  and  clean,  as  if  the  spirit  of  New  England  house 
keeping  had  entered  into  Nature,  and  she  had  set  her 
house  in  order  for  company. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  kept  feeling  like  a  guest  during  the 
drive  over  from  the  station,  and  she  had  an  obscure 
resentment  of  the  feeling  as  a  foreshadowed  effect  from 
an  attempt  on  Mrs.  Kite's  part  to  play  the  hostess.  She 
must  be  the  mistress  from  the  first,  and,  though  Mrs. 
Kite  was  not  to  be  quite  her  servant,  she  must  be  made 
to  realize  distinctly  that  the  house  was  Mrs.  Kelwyn's, 
and  that  she  was  in  it  by  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  favor;  this 
realization  could  not  begin  too  soon. 

But  it  had  apparently  begun  already,  and  when  the 
caravan  of  the  Kelwyns  drew  up  under  the  elms  at  the 
gable  of  the  old  Shaker  Family  house,  nothing  could 
have  been  more  to  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  mind  than  the  whole 
keeping  of  the  place,  unless  it  was  the  behavior  of  Mrs. 
Kite.  She  did  not  come  officiously  forward  in  welcome, 
as  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had  feared  she  might ;  she  stood  wait- 

24 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

ing  in  the  doorway  for  the  Kelwyns  to  alight  and  in 
troduce  themselves ;  but  Mrs.  Kelwyn  decided  that  this 
was  from  respect  and  not  pride,  for  the  woman  seemed 
a  humble  creature  enough  when  she  spoke  to  her:  not 
embarrassed,  but  not  forth-putting. 

She  had  the  effect  of  having  on  the  best  dress  she  had 
compatible  with  household  duties,  and  she  looked  neat 
and  agreeable  in  it.  She  was  rather  graceful,  and  she 
was  of  a  sort  of  blameless  middlingness  in  looks.  A 
boy,  somewhat  younger  than  the  elder  Kelwyn  boy, 
stood  beside  her  and  stared  at  the  two  young  Kelwyns 
writh  strange  eyes  of  impersonal  guile. 

It  was  a  relief  for  the  moment,  and  then  for  another 
moment  a  surprise,  not  to  see  Kite  himself  about;  but 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  had  scarcely  drawn  an  indignant  breath 
when  the  man  came  hulking  round  the  corner  of  the 
house,  where  he  stopped  to  swear  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  team  he  must  have  left  somewhere,  and  then  ad 
vanced  to  the  wagon  piled  high  with  the  Kelwyns' 
trunks,  and  called  out  to  them  rather  than  to  the  Kel 
wyns,  "  Well,  how  are  you !" 

The  house  was  everything  Kelwyn  had  painted  it. 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  explored  it  with  him  to  give  him  the 
pleasure  of  her  approval  before  she  settled  down  to  the 
minute  examination  of  their  quarters;  and  together, 
with  their  children,  they  ranged  up  and  down  stairs 
and  through  the  long  passages,  feeling  like  a  bath  the 
delight  of  its  cool  cleanliness.  Mrs.  Kite,  who  met 
them  on  their  return  from  their  wanderings,  said  the 
Shaker  ladies  had  been  up  the  day  before,  putting  on 
the  last  touches  before  they  should  come.  It  was  pleas 
ant  to  know  that  they  had  been  expected  and  prepared 
for,  but  Mrs.  Kelwyn  fancied  that,  though  the  house 
keeping  had  been  instituted  by  the  Shaker  ladies,  it 
must  have  been  the  Shaker  gentlemen  who  had  looked 

25 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

after  the  house  furnishing.  She  had  expected  that  there 
might  be  a  Shaker  stiffness  in  the  appointments,  but 
that  there  would  also  be  a  Shaker  quaintness;  and  she 
had  imagined  her  rooms  dressed  in  the  Shaker  gear, 
which  the  house  must  once  have  worn,  and  which  would 
have  been  restored  from  the  garrets  and  basements  of 
the  other  community  dwellings.  But  the  Shakers  had 
not  imagined  anything  of  that  kind.  Whichever  of 
them  it  had  been  left  to  had  laid  one  kind  of  ingrain 
carpet  in  all  the  rooms,  and  furnished  the  chambers  in 
a  uniformity  of  painted  pine  sets.  There  was  a  parlor 
set  of  black  walnut,  and  there  were  painted  shades  at 
the  windows.  All  was  new,  and  smelled  fresh  and 
wholesome,  but  the  things  had  no  more  character  than 
they  had  in  the  furniture  warerooms  where  they  were 
bought.  Apparently  the  greatest  good-will  had  been 
used,  and  Mrs.  Kelwyn  could  well  believe  that  the 
Shakers  supposed  they  had  dealt  much  more  acceptably 
by  them  than  if  they  had  given  them  the  rag  carpets 
and  the  hooked  rugs,  the  high-post  bedsteads  and  splint 
chairs  which  she  would  have  so  much  rather  had. 

The  Kelwyns  were  a  long  time  getting  settled  into 
temporary  form;  the  robins  were  shouting  their  good- 
nights  around  them,  and  a  thrush  was  shrilling  from 
the  woods  that  covered  the  hill  slope  behind  the  house, 
when  the  tinkle  of  a  far-off  bell  called  them  to  supper. 
Then  they  found  themselves  suddenly  hungry,  and  they 
sat  down  in  the  old  Shaker  refectory  with  minds  framed 
to  eager  appreciation  of  what  good  things  might  be  set 
before  them.  Mrs.  Kite  gave  a  glance  at  the  table  be 
fore  she  left  it  to  them;  and  said  that  she  would  be 
right  there  in  the  kitchen  if  they  wanted  anything. 
She  really  went  down-stairs  beyond  the  kitchen  to  the 
ground  floor,  where  she  had  four  or  five  rooms  with  her 

family. 

26 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

The  Kelwyns  had  a  four-o'clock  dinner  at  home,  and 
now  it  was  a  quarter  past  seven  as  they  sat  down  with 
their  orderly  little  boys  at  the  supper  which  Mrs.  Kite 
had  imagined  for  them.  There  were  two  kinds  of  cake 
on  the  table :  three  slices  of  pound-cake,  translucent  but 
solid,  at  one  end  of  the  table,  and  thicker  slices  of 
marble-cake,  with  veins  of  verde  antique  varying  its 
surface  of  Siena  yellow,  at  the  other.  A  dish  of  stewed 
fruit  stood  in  the  centre,  which  proved  to  be  dried  ap 
ples;  at  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  right  elbow  was  the  teapot;  on 
one  hand  of  Kelwyn  was  a  plate  of  butter,  and  on  the 
other  a  plate  of  bread  cut  from  a  loaf  of  which  the  half 
remained  beside  the  pieces.  In  the  bewilderment  of 
realizing  the  facts  he  lifted  successively  the  butter  and 
the  bread  to  his  nose,  which  involuntarily  curled  from 
them,  in  the  silence  broken  by  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  lifting 
the  teapot  lid  an  instant,  and  then  clapping  it  to  with 
a  quick  "  Ugh !" 

"  Isn't  it  our  tea  ?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"  It's  all  of  it,  I  should  think,"  said  his  wife.  "  She 
doesn't  know  how  to  make  English  breakfast  tea,  evi 
dently.  She's  steeped  it  like  green  tea,  and  it's  as  strong 
as  lye.  What's  the  matter  with  the  butter  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  liken  its  strength  to." 

"  And  the  bread  ?" 

"  It  seems  like  what  they  used  to  call  salt  -  rising 
bread.  I  haven't  smelt  any  since  I  was  a  boy." 

He  stretched  the  plate  toward  her,  and  when  she 
brought  it  within  range  of  her  nose  she  averted  her  face 
with  a  wild  "  Phew !"  and  an  imploring  cry  of  "  El 
mer  !"  while  she  made  play  with  her  hands  as  if  fight 
ing  away  mosquitoes. 

"  I  remember  that  when  it  was  hot  you  could  eat  it 
if  you  hurried ;  but  when  it  was  cold !" 

He  said  no  more,  and  his  wife  could  not  speak.  The 
3  27 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

elder  of  the  two  well-behaved  little  boys  made  a  pre 
liminary  noise  in  his  throat,  and  then,  not  being  quelled, 
ventured  to  ask,  "  Mamma,  may  I  say  something  ?" 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?"  his  mother  returned,  tenderly,  as 
from  the  sense  of  a  common  sorrow. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  the  boy  said,  politely.  "  But  is  this 
all,  or  do  they  begin  with  the  dessert  in  the  country  ?" 

Kelwyn  laughed  harshly,  and  his  wife  looked  at  him 
with  reproach.  She  had  been  about  to  bid  the  child  eat 
what  was  set  before  him  and  not  make  remarks,  but 
in  despair  of  setting  him  the  example  she  felt  that  she 
must  forbear  the  precept.  "  I'm  afraid  it  isn't  the 
dessert,  dear,"  she  answered,  gently.  "  I'm  afraid  it's 
—all." 

;"  All  ?"  the  boy  echoed,  in  a  husky  tone,  and  at  the 
melancholy  sound  his  younger  brother,  who  took  his 
cue  from  him  in  everything,  silently  put  up  his  lip. 

"  Elmer !"  their  mother  demanded.  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do  ?" 

"  I'm  going  to  get  something  to  eat."  Kelwyn  pushed 
back  his  chair  and  launched  himself  forward  as  in  act 
to  start  for  the  kitchen  door. 

His  wife  intercepted  him  with  the  appeal :  "  ~No  I 
Wait,  Elmer !  We  must  begin  as  we  can  carry  out." 

This  saying  has  always  an  implication  of  reserved 
wisdom,  and  besides  Kelwyn  was  willing  to  be  inter 
cepted  ;  he  sank  back  into  his  chair. 

"  I  must  talk  with  her,  and  I  must  think  what  to 
say,  what  to  do.  We  mustn't  be  harsh,  but  we  must  be 
firm.  I'm  afraid  she's  done  her  best  on  mistaken  lines. 
She's  tried  to  realize  our  ideals,  but  if  she  had  been  left 
to  her  own  it  might  have  been  different.  We  are  bound 
to  suppose  so." 

"  And  in  the  mean  time  we  are  starving,"  Kelwyn 

argued. 

28 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  I  know  all  that,  my  dear,"  his  wife  retorted.  "  But 
we  must  begin  as  we  can  carry  out;  and  in  the  first 
place  there  must  he  no  going  to  them:  they  must 
come  to  us.  Will  you  bring  the  bell  off  the  bureau 
in  mamma's  room  ?"  she  bade  the  eldest  boy,  and 
the  youngest  ran  with  him;  they  returned  in  better 
spirits,  and  climbed  back  to  their  places  in  eager  ex 
pectation. 

"  May  I  ring  it  ?"  the  eldest  brother  asked. 

"  I  want  to  ring  it,"  the  youngest  entreated. 

"  N"o,  darlings,  mamma  must  ring,"  said  the  mother, 
with  a  tenderness  meant  for  them  and  a  stateliness 
meant  for  Mrs.  Kite.  She  rang  almost  majestically  at 
first;  then  indignantly;  then  angrily. 

Mrs.  Kite  put  her  head  in  from  the  kitchen.  "  Oh ! 
I  thought  I  heard  a  bell  ringin'  somewhere,"  she  con 
cluded,  in  apology  for  her  intrusion. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  with  a  sternness  from 
which  she  gave  herself  time  to  relax  before  she  added : 
"  Could  you  give  us  some  eggs,  Mrs.  Kite  ?  Soft 
boiled  ?" 

"  Oh,  fried,  mamma !"  the  eldest  boy,  who  was  Fran 
cis,  entreated. 

"  I  want  fried,"  his  younger  brother  whispered,  with 
the  lack  of  originality  innate  in  younger  brothers. 

"  'Sh !"  said  their  mother.  "  Francy,  I'm  astonished. 
Carl !  Won't  you  come  in,  Mrs.  Kite  ?" 

Mrs.  Kite  came  in  and  sat  down. 

"  And  could  you,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  pursued,  in  the  peti 
tion  which  she  tried  to  keep  from  making  itself  a  com 
mand,  "  give  us  some  of  your  hot  biscuit  ?" 

The  children  could  not  keep  from  noiselessly  clapping 
their  hands ;  arrested  in  the  act  by  their  mother's  frown, 
they  held  their  hands  joined  and  appeared  to  be  saying 
a  grace. 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Why,  yes,"  Mrs.  Kite  assented.  "  But  I  guess  they 
ain't  very  hot  any  more.  The  fire's  gone  down — " 

"  I  suppose  you  could  make  it  up  for  the  eggs,"  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  suggested. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  Alvin  can  make  it  up  again,"  Mrs.  Kite 
assented. 

Kelwyn  was  taking  involuntary  notes  of  her,  and  he 
could  not  have  said  whether  she  was  assenting  willing 
ly  or  unwillingly.  She  might  have  heen  meek  or  she 
might  have  been  sly ;  she  could  have  been  pretty  or  plain, 
as  you  thought;  her  pale  sandy  hair  might  have  been 
golden ;  her  gray  eyes  blue.  A  neutrality  which  seemed 
the  potentiality  of  better  or  worse  things  pervaded  her. 

"  Well,  we  should  like  some  soft  -  boiled  eggs  —  or 
fried,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  in  concession  to  her  children, 
"  if  it's  just  as  easy.  We  have  a  late  dinner  at  home, 
and  we're  rather  hungry." 

"  Why,"  said  Mrs.  Kite,  "  if  you'd  'a'  sent  word  I'd 
V  had  a  warm,  supper  for  you — milk  toast  and  some 
kind  of  meat." 

"  Oh,  this  is  very  nice,"  said  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  absently, 
from  her  apparent  absorption  with  the  milk  which  she 
was  inspecting  in  its  pitcher.  "  There  seems  to  be  some 
thing  in  the  milk — " 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  Mrs.  Kite  inquired,  interestedly.  "  It 
does  look  kind  of  speckled."  She  examined  it,  and  then 
sat  down  again  with  the  jug  in  her  lap.  "  Must  'a'  got 
in  from  the  rafters  in  the  cellar.  But  I  can  get  you 
some  warm  from  the  cow  as  soon  as  Alvin  comes  in 
from  milkin'.  I  guess  that  will  be  clean  enough." 

"  And  could  you  get  us  a  little  fresher  butter  ?"  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  pursued,  passing  the  plate  to  Mrs.  Kite,  who 
took  it  passively. 

"  Why,  ain't  the  butter  all  right  ?"  she  asked. 

"  It's  rather  strong,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  admitted. 

30 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  can  fix  that."  Mrs.  Kite  put  it  in 
her  lap  with  the  milk-pitcher,  and  sat  contentedly  ex 
pectant. 

"  And  I  am  afraid  that  the  tea.  has  stood  rather  long," 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  said.  "  You  know  that  with  this  kind, 
you  merely  pour  on  the  hot  water  and  bring  it  to  the 
table." 

"  My !  We  keep  ours  on  the  stove  all  day !  I  guess 
Alvin  wouldn't  think  he  was  drinking  tea  unless  he 
could  taste  the  bitter.  Well,"  Mrs.  Kite  rose  in  saying, 
"  I'll  get  you  the  things  as  soon  as  I  can,  but,  as  I  said, 
the  fire's  out,  and — " 

She  left  the  rest  to  their  imagination  as  she  let  her 
self  into  the  kitchen,  with  the  milk-pitcher  in  one  hand, 
the  teapot  in  the  other,  and  the  butter-plate  in  the  hol 
low  of  her  arm. 

Kelwyn  rose  and  put  the  bread  beyond  smelling- 
distance  on  the  side-table. 

"  Now,  don't  you  say  one  word,  please,"  said  his 
wife,  "  till  we  see  what  she  can  do." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  disposed  to  be  critical.  I'm  rather 
sorry  for  her,  though  she  didn't  seem  put  to  shame, 
much.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  opened  the  door  for 
her." 

"  She  managed,"  said  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  coldly. 

In  the  kitchen  presently  they  heard  heavy  clumping 
steps  as  of  a  man  coming  in,  and  after  a  moment  what 
seemed  a  kind  of  hushed  swearing.  But  a  rattling  of 
the  stove-lids  presently  followed,  and  then  the  pungent 
odor  of  wood  smoke  stole  encouragingly  through  the 
kitchen  door.  There  was  now  and  then  the  sound  of 
steps,  but  there  were  spaces  of  silence  in  which  the 
Kelwyn  family  drowsed  in  their  chairs. 

The  door  flew  open  at  last,  and  Mrs.  Kite  came  in 
with  a  pitcher.  "  Thought  I'd  bring  in  some  milk 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

for  the  little  boys  while  it  was  warm.  The  things  will 
be  ready  right  away  now."  She  went  out,  cutting  short 
Avith  the  shutting  door  the  steady  hiss  of  frying. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  put  the  pitcher  to  her  face  mechanical 
ly,  and  then  set  it  down  at  arm's-length.  Her  husband 
silently  looked  question,  and  she  audibly  explained, 
"  Cowy."  They  were  helpless  against  a  lack  of  neat 
ness  which  gave  the  odor  of  the  cow's  udder  to  the  milk, 
and  Kelwyn  thought  how  promptly  they  had  once  dis 
missed  their  milkman  at  home  for  cowy  milk.  The 
children  were  eagerly  intent  on  the  frying  eggs,  which 
then  ceased  to  fry,  leaving  a  long  silence  to  ensue,  till 
Mrs.  Kite  pushed  open  the  door  with  one  of  her  elbows 
and  one  of  her  feet,  and  reappeared  with  the  fried  eggs 
on  a  platter,  and  the  teapot;  Kite  hulked  in  after  her 
with  a  plate  of  biscuit  and  butter,  and  set  them  down 
with  a  glower  at  his  guests  and  hulked  out. 

"  I  don't  believe  but  what  you'll  find  everything  all 
right  now,"  she  said,  "  though  I  presume  I  did  let  the 
tea  stand  a  little  mite  long,  to  your  taste." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  "  Oh,  I  dare  say  it  will  be  nice," 
and  Mrs.  Kite,  after  a  look  at  the  table,  napped  out, 
not  cheerfully,  but  self  -  contentedly,  on  her  heel  -  less 
shoes.  Then  the  Kelwyns  examined  the  food  put  be 
fore  them. 

The  eggs,  with  their  discolored  edges  limp  from 
standing  in  the  pork  fat,  stared  up  dimly,  sadly;  the 
biscuits,  when  broken  open,  emitted  an  alkaline  steam 
from  their  greenish  -  yellow  crumb ;  the  tea  was  black 
again.  Kelwyn  remained  scrutinizing  the  butter. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  his  wife  asked. 

"  It  looks  like — sugar." 

"Whatf 

He  pushed  it  to  her,  and  she  scrutinized  it  in  her 

turn.     "  It  is — it  actually  is !     She's  tried  to  sweeten 

32 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

it  by  working  sugar  into  it!"  She  fell  back  into  her 
chair,  and  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  "  What  are  we 
going  to  do,  Elmer  ?" 

"  Here,  Carl/7  said  his  father,  recklessly,  "  have  an 
egg.  Have  an  egg,  Francy." 

"  And  a  biscuit,  papa  ?"  Francy  asked ;  and  Carl 
parroted  after  him,  "  And  a  biscuit,  papa  ?" 

"  Yes,  all  you  can  eat." 

"  Do  you  want  to  kill  them,  Elmer  ?"  their  mother 
palpitated. 

"  It's  filth,  but  it  isn't  poison,"  said  Kelwyn,  and  he 
spread  each  of  the  boys  a  biscuit  with  the  sugared  but 
ter,  and  set  them  the  example  of  eating  the  things  put 
before  them.  "  Give  me  some  of  that  bitter  black  tea, 
Carry,  with  plenty  of  cowy  milk  in  it." 

"  /  want  some  cowy  milk,  papa,"  Francy  whispered ; 
and  Carl  whispered,  too,  "I  want  some  cowy  milk, 
papa." 

"  You  shall  have  all  the  cowy  milk  you  can  drink," 
said  their  father,  and  he  commanded  their  mother,  who 
was  keeping  one  hand  on  the  teapot  and  the  other  on 
the  milk  -  pitcher :  "  Pass  me  the  cowy  milk,  Carry ; 
give  me  some  bitter  black  tea.  Eat  your  blear  -  eyed 
eggs,  boys,  and  have  some  more.  Take  another  bilious 
biscuit,  with  plenty  of  sugar-butter  on  it.  My  dear, 
you're  not  eating  anything !" 

"  Are  you  erazy,  Elmer  ?"  his  wife  demanded.  "  You 
won't  sleep  a  wink.  You'll  be  dead  before  morning." 

"  I  shall  not  be  dead  unless  that  brute  murders  me 
in  my  bed,  and  if  I  don't  sleep  a  wink  I  shall  be  awake 
to  prevent  him,"  Kelwyn  said,  not  fearlessly,  but  reck 
lessly. 

The  boys,  rapt  in  their  supper,  did  not  hear  him. 
His  wife  shuddered  out:  "What  in  the  world  shall 
we  do?" 

33 


VI 


THEEE  was  that  summer  a  great  alarm  of  tramps. 
The  times  were  bad,  as  they  must  be  every  now  and 
then,  in  an  economy  as  little  regulated  as  the  weather, 
and  men  without  work  were  prowling  the  country  every 
where.  They  were  mostly  long  past  the  hope  of  work, 
or  the  wish  for  it,  but  they  still  wanted  to  eat.  They 
found  shelter  for  themselves  in  barns  and  hay-stacks, 
and  any  rags  sufficed  in  summer;  but  a  handout  was 
good  for  only  a  few  hours  at  a  time,  and  the  newspapers 
teemed  with  stories  of  the  insolence  and  even  violence 
which  repaid  the  charity  done  the  vagabonds. 

After  Kelwyn's  visit  to  the  place  they  had  taken  for 
the  summer,  it  seemed  more  and  more  that  it  was  a  lone 
ly  place,  and  that  he  ought  to  have  some  means  of  de 
fending  himself  and  his  family  from  tramps.  While 
the  farmer  was  about  they  need  not  fear,  but  he  must 
often  be  away  cutting  the  wood  which  was  the  Shaker 
Family's  chief  crop,  and  then  the  Kelwyns  would  be 
left  unprotected.  The  truculent  giant  laughed  when  the 
notion  was  suggested  to  him ;  but  he  loosely  agreed  never 
to  be  out  of  call  when  Kelwyn  was  absent. 

For  safety  when  he  was  not  absent,  Kelwyn  bought 
himself  a  pistol.  His  sense  of  the  sacredness  of  prop 
erty  rights  was  strong,  as  it  should  be  in  a  lecturer  on 
Historical  Sociology,  and  the  pistol  was  as  much  to  save 
their  belongings  as  their  lives  from  the  tramps.  As 
regarded  his  own  property,  Kelwyn  had  ideas  of  pe 
culiar  force,  which  he  made  apply  as  well  to  the  small 

34 


TEE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

estate  brought  him  by  his  wife  as  to  the  little  sum  which 
he  had  put  by  from  taking  a  pupil  now  and  then ;  from 
his  salary  he  could  not  put  by  anything.  He  held  that 
if  he  caught  a  thief  by  night  stealing  his  watch,  for 
instance,  or  the  silver  which  he  had  bought  with  his 
hard-earned  savings,  he  would  have  a  right  to  kill  him. 
He  often  said  this,  and  he  believed  that  he  should  not 
have  the  least  regret  for  such  a  deed. 

When  he  went  to  buy  his  revolver  he  told  the  dealer 
that  he  would  like  something  that  was  good  for  tramps, 
and  the  man  offered  him  for  ten  dollars  a  pretty  nickel- 
plated  toy  which  he  said  was  just  the  thing  for  tramps; 
Kelwyn  rejected  it  in  favor  of  a  plain  steel  burnished 
affair  at  six  dollars.  He  and  the  dealer  had  reciprocally 
admired  each  other's  nonchalance  in  the  transaction, 
but  on  the  way  home  Kelwyn  lost  something  of  his  self- 
satisfaction.  There  was  a  moment  when,  as  the  horse- 
car  of  those  days  tinkled  toward  his  university  suburb, 
with  nothing  to  suggest  a  break  in  his  monotonous 
revery,  he  suddenly  realized  with  a  neuralgic  poign 
ancy  that  his  revolver  was  meant  to  kill  a  man, 
and  that  with  it  in  his  pocket  he  was  a  potential 
homicide. 

These  were  the  terms  in  which  the  case  presented 
itself,  and  though  Kelwyn  perceived  that  they  were  so 
loosely  descriptive  as  to  be  morally  inapplicable,  he 
could  not  instantly  dismiss  them.  He  had  not  dis 
missed  them  when  he  told  his  wife  of  his  purchase. 
She  had  often  agreed  to  his  theory  of  the  sacredness 
of  all  property,  and  the  peculiar  sacredness  of  his,  and 
she  had  approved  of  his  buying  the  pistol.  But,  as 
she  said,  she  did  not  wish  to  see  it.  He  asked  her  why, 
angrily,  and  whether  she  had  not  allowed  him  to  get 
it.  She  said  that  she  supposed  she  had,  but  she  did  not 
wish  to  see  it.  But  the  night  after  their  first  supper 

35 


THE    VACATION    OF    THE    KELWYNS 

in  the  old  Family  house  of  the  Shakers,  when  the  boys 
had  been  put  to  bed,  too  sleepy  for  their  belated  prayers, 
she  asked,  in  the  act  of  taking  out  her  hair-pins,  "  Have 
you  got  that  pistol  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  said  Kelwyn. 

"Let  me  see  it!" 

He  went  and  got  it  out  of  his  coat-pocket  ;  he  had  not 
decided  just  where  to  keep  it,  and  offered  it  to  her. 

"  Ugh  !"     She  started  back.     "  Don't  point  it  I" 

"  Who's  pointing  it  ?"  he  retorted.  "  I'm  holding  it 
toward  the  floor." 

"  I  didn't  know  which  the  end  was.  And  it  might 
go  through  the  floor  and  kill  somebody.  Is  it  loaded  ?" 


"  Are  you  sure  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  am  !  Look  into  the  cartridge-chambers 
if  you  don't  believe  me." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  backed  across  the  room.  "  That's  the 
way  half  the  accidents  happen.  Don't  point  it  at  your 
face  !"  Kelwyn  was  squinting  into  the  chambers  of  the 
revolver.  "  How  do  you  load  it  ?" 

"  I'll  show  you."  He  got  the  box  of  cartridges  from 
his  trunk,  and  while  his  wife  stood  at  the  other  side 
of  the  room  he  filled  the  chambers  with  them.  "  There  !" 

"Is  that  all?    Is  it  loaded  now?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  do  you  have  to  shoot  it  off  to  unload  it  ?" 

"  No,  you  can  take  the  cartridges  out,"  he  said,  and 
he  showed  her  how. 

"  And  the  cartridges  can't  shoot  off  of  themselves  ?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  And  the  pistol  can't  shoot  without  them  ?" 

"  Of  course  it  can't  I" 

"  Give  them  to  me."  He  obeyed,  and  she  put  the  box 
on  the  stand  at  the  bedside.  "  Now  put  the  pistol  on 

36 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  chair  on  your  side,  and  I  shall  feel  perfectly  safe. 
Promise  me  you  won't  try  to  load  it  unless  you  hear 
some  one  coming  into  the  room." 

"  Much  good  it  will  do  then !  You  mustn't  be  ridicu 
lous,  my  dear.  If  the  pistol  is  to  be  of  any  use  I  must 
have  it  loaded  where  I  can  put  my  hand  on  it  at  the 
slightest  alarm.  Didn't  you  understand  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  understood  it,  but  I  didn't  realize  it.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  have  you  shoot  any  one,  Elmer.  Should 
you  like  to  ?" 

"  I  shouldn't  choose  it,  but  if  a  tramp — 

"  We  must  risk  the  tramps.  The  Kites  would  hear 
any  one  from  their  room  off  the  kitchen.  I'm  more 
afraid  of  him  than  of  tramps." 

There  was  no  logical  sequence  in  her  reasons  or  sensa 
tions,  but  both  were  intelligible  to  Kelwyn. 

Shorter  men  will  pityingly  protect  a  tallish  woman 
from  her  fears  when  she  begins  to  whimper,  and  now, 
when  Mrs.  Kelwyn  began  to  whimper,  Kelwyn  pulled 
her  head  over  on  his  shoulder,  and  put  his  arms  around 
her,  and  patted  her  on  the  back.  "  Come,  come,"  he 
said. 

"  Oh,  Elmer,"  she  bleated,  "  we  are  in  such  a  terrible 
box!" 

"  Oh  no,  we're  not,  my  dear.  It's  been  disappointing 
and  disheartening.  But  it  isn't  desperate.  You'll  see 
everything  in  a  different  light  to  -  morrow.  Besides, 
we're  not  bound  to  stay  here,  or  to  let  the  Kites  stay. 
The  place  is  ours ;  we're  masters  of  the  situation." 

He  imparted  his  own  courage  to  her,  and  he  was  aware 
of  her  having  it  all  when  he  had  succeeded  in  quieting 
her  nerves.  From  the  distance  to  which  the  Shaker 
holdings  had  pushed  the  neighborhood  there  came  not 
even  the  sound  of  dogs  barking.  The  muffled  noise  of 
Kite's  horses  stamping  came  from  the  old  Family  stable. 

37 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

The  whippoorwills,  which  seemed  to  abound  in  the 
woods  and  pastures,  filled  the  moonlight  with  the  whir< 
ring  of  their  swift  arrowy  calls.  One  of  the  blood-cur 
dling  brood  ventured  from  covert  and  perched  on  the, 
well-curb,  where  he  sat  and  whistled  in  his  ghastlj 
muted  note  and  would  not  be  hushed  away. 

Just  before  daybreak  Kelwyn  was  wakened  by  Kite 
swearing  joyously  at  his  horses  in  the  stable.  He  dozed, 
and  two  hours  later  he  was  roused  again  by  the  parley 
between  his  tenant-host  and  the  fish-man  who  halted  his 
cart  to  join  in  the  morning  blasphemy  of  the  farmer, 
and  to  sell  him  a  mackerel  for  the  Kelwyns'  breakfast. 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  slept  through  all,  and  she  outslept  the 
two  boys,  whom  their  father  helped  dress  when  they 
came  tiptoeing  in  from  the  next  room  to  see  if  he  were 
awake. 


VII 


THE  coffee  that  morning  was  worse  than  the  tea ;  the 
milk  was  speckled  from  the  cellar  rafters  again;  the 
mackerel  had  been  fried  in  lard.  But  the  Kelwyn  boys 
enjoyed  the  hot  soggy  biscuit,  with  the  sugared  butter 
on  them;  and  then  they  asked  to  be  excused,  and  stole 
out  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Kite's  boy,  who 
had  lurked  at  the  kitchen  door  through  the  meal,  look 
ing  in  and  luring  the  young  Kelwyns  when  his  mother 
passed  to  and  fro. 

"  ISTow,  Elmer,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  began,  in  a  tone  of 
reinvigorated  virtue  which  in  itself  was  an  irritation  to 
his  spent  nerves.  It  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  mar 
riage  that  both  the  parties  to  the  compact  are  seldom 
in  the  same  mind  or  mood,  and  one  of  its  disadvantages 
that  with  this  useful  variance  they  are  as  often  hurt 
ful  as  helpful  to  each  other.  They  cannot  always  agree 
about  a  question,  though  they  see  both  sides  of  it.  If 
one  is  cheerful  they  keep  a  sort  of  balance,  though  the 
other  is  gloomy,  even  though  they  do  not  unite  in  a 
final  gayety. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  made  a  sort  of  pause  after  challenging 
her  husband's  attention,  and  he  was  rasped  into  rasping 
out,  "  Well  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see  for  yourself  it  won't  do." 

"  Did  I  say  it  would  do  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that.  But  last  night  you  said  I 
would  see  it  differently  in  the  morning." 

"  That  was  to  keep  you  from  breaking  down  alto- 

39 


THE  VACATION  OE  THE  KELWYNS 

gether.  And  it  seems  to  have  carried  you  through  the 
night  pretty  well." 

"  Yes,  and  I  appreciate  that.  But  now  we  have  got 
to  face  the  facts,  and  the  facts  are  that  she  won't  do, 
and  can't  do,  and  don't  seem  to  care  to  do.  Now  what 
shall  you  do  ?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  it's  for  you  to  say  what  I  shall  do," 
he  temporized.  "  I'll  do  whatever  you  say." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  was  appeased  by  the  comparatively  soft 
answer  when  she  might  have  encountered  active  de 
fiance.  "  I  suppose  that  I  could  go  to  the  kitchen  and 
teach  her,  but  do  you  think  it  is  my  place  to  do  that  3" 

In  their  earlier  life  together,  when  life  was  simpler, 
it  had  sometimes  happened  that  in  the  intervals  of  gen 
eral  housework  girls  whom  they  could  alone  afford  to 
keep,  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had  not  only  cooked,  but  had  done 
all  her  work.  He  aided  her  about  it,  and  they  always 
looked  back  rather  fondly  to  those  times  when  they 
seemed  to  draw  closer  to  each  other  in  their  mutual 
help.  It  had  now  passed  vaguely  through  his  mind 
that  she  might,  indeed,  do  just  the  thing  she  suggested ; 
and  something  in  his  silence  must  have  said  so  to  her 
wifely  subtlety. 

"Well,  then,  I  can  tell  you,'  Elm,er,"  she  "continued, 
as  if  he  had  spoken,  "  I'm  not  going  to  do  it.  I  might 
as  well  ask  you  to  go  out  and  show  him  about  his  farm- 
work."  She  knew  very  well  that  this  did  not  follow, 
but  he  did  not  say  so ;  he  did  not  say  anything ;  and  she 
had  to  resume :  "  Besides,  she  couldn't  learn,  and  she 
wouldn't  wish  to.  We  must  go  and  see  the  Shakers  at 
once.  They  are  our  landlords." 

"  Well,  I'll  get  the  horse." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  lamented :  "  How  precipitate  you  are ! 
I  want  to  talk  it  over  first," 

It  came  to  some  such  point  again  and  again,  but  the 

40 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

days  went  by  and  the  Kelwyns  had  done  nothing  de 
cided.  There  were  alleviations^  or  illusions  of  allevia 
tions,  when  the  Kites  seemed  to  do  better,  or  when  the 
Kelwyns  had  become  so  used  to  their  doing  badly  that 
they  had  lost  the  sense  of  better  things.  They  accused 
themselves  of  lapsing  into  barbarism,  of  degenerating, 
and  in  a  measure  they  were  really  corrupted  by  the 
many  comforts,  almost  mounting  to  luxury,  of  the  situa 
tion.  Their  housing  had  not  ceased  to  be  less  delight 
ful  than  at  first,  and  Mrs.  Kite's  housekeeping,  when 
it  was  spread  over  the  twenty-five  rooms  of  the  old 
Family  house,  ceased  to  have  a  positive  ineffectiveness. 
If  she  did  not  sweep  or  dust,  it  was  because  the  preva 
lent  cleanliness  demanded  no  sweeping  or  dusting  from 
her :  the  cleanliness  was  as  if  permanent,  like  the  floors, 
and  walls,  and  windows.  With  Kite's  six  feet  of  rugged 
strength  between  him  and  the  tramps,  Kelwyn  slept 
more  securely  than  if  he  had  in  each  hand  a  revolver 
united  with  its  cartridges.  By  day  he  went  berrying 
in  the  pastures  with  his  boys  and  the  Kite  boy,  or  wrote 
on  the  sociological  lectures  which  were  to  be  so  impres 
sive  as  to  leave  no  room  for  question  of  a  professorship 
with  the  overseers.  He  was  inactively  conscious  that 
besides  the  small  Kite  boy,  there  was  in  the  household 
a  half-grown  boy  who  had  been  adopted  by  the  Kites, 
and  a  Canadian  hired  man,  who  helped  about  the  place 
and  did  odd  jobs  of  carpentering  for  the  neighborhood. 
His  name  was  Rene,  and  to  make  others  sure  of  it  he 
spelled  it  Raney.  Like  her  husband  and  the  big  boy,  he 
seemed  to  look  up  to  the  woman  with  implicit  deference 
and  admiration,  which  in  its  way  became  one  of  Mrs. 
Kelwyn's  trials,  and  remained  for  her  to  the  last  a 
baffling  anomaly. 

In  the  long  evenings   following  the   early   supper, 
which  in  their  eagerness  to  have  it  over  they  despatched 

41 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

promptly,  Kelwyn  sat  with  his  family  on  the  door-step, 
and  listened  to  the  hermit  thrushes  in  the  woods  near 
by  and  then  later  to  the  muted  whistling  of  the  whip- 
poorwills  that  whirred  through  the  cool,  damp  air 
close  about  them  and  dropped  like  soft  clots  of  earth 
in  the  grass.  Now  and  then  the  Kites,  unbidden,  but 
unforbidden,  joined  them ;  the  woman  gliding  back  and 
forth  in  the  dusk,  after  a  fashion  she  had,  and  talking 
in  her  high,  sweet  voice ;  and  the  man  listening  to  her 
with  rapt  admiration.  One  evening  he  told  of  his  boy 
hood  in  northern  Vermont,  where  he  was  born,  and  of 
the  bears  that  came  down  from  the  hills  and  frightened 
the  children  going  to  school.  He  made  a  picture  of  the 
poor  hard  life  his  people  had  lived,  and  Kelwyn  felt 
himself  in  danger  of  getting  on  human  terms  with  him. 
Another  evening  he  was  mowing  the  grass  around  his 
wife's  clothes-line  under  the  apple-trees,  and  he  called 
to  the  Canadian  farm-hand,  who  was  in  the  way  frolick 
ing  with  the  big  boy,  "  Look  out,  Kaney ;  I'll  couper 
your  legs."  He  drove  his  scythe  into  the  ground. 

"  You'll  couper  some  little  stones,"  Raney  joked  back. 
He  threw  himself  into  one  of  the  trees,  and  hung  from 
a  limb  by  his  toes,  and  Mrs.  Kite  said : 

"  You  didn't  know  my  husband  could  talk  French. 
Well,  he  was  brought  up,  part  of  the  time,  close  to 
Montreal." 

She  was  proud  of  his  talking  French,  though  she 
must  have  known  he  could  not  read  English;  and  ap 
parently  they  had  standing  in  the  neighborhood.  One 
evening  a  slattern  woman  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  and 
a  barefooted  ragged  little  girl  hanging  to  her  skirt, 
came  down  the  road,  and  halted  across  the  way  from 
the  group  at  the  door.  "  Look  a-here,  Mr.  Kite,  I  want 
to  know  what  you  been  savin'  to  Tad  about  me.  He's 
turned  me  out-o'-doors." 

42 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Kite  was  letting  his  horse  crop  the  doorside  grass 
while  it  cooled  in  the  twilight,  after  a  hot  day's  work, 
and  he  answered,  between  jerks  at  the  halter  and  curses 
of  the  beast,  that  he  had  not  been  saying  anything. 
"  But  I  can  tell  you,  Tad  and  you  are  both  as  ugly  as 
the  devil ;  I  sha'n't  meddle  with  you :  but  you're  a  dis 
grace  to  the  whole  neighborhood.  You  go  home  and 
tell  him  I  say  if  he  don't  stop  turnin'  you  out-o'-doors 
he'll  get  where  he'll  want  somebody  should  turn  him 
out." 

Mrs.  Kite  watched  the  woman  away  in  silence ;  then 
she  explained  to  Mrs.  Kelwyn :  "  He's  that  drunken 
Tad  Alison  lives  down  the  road  here  a  piece,  and  they 
fight  the  whole  while.  I  don't  see  why  they  can't 
live  peaceable.  One  thing,  Mr.  Kite's  talked  to  'em 
enough."  She  put  on  the  air  of  social  leadership ;  she 
caught  sight  of  the  big  boy  coming  from  the  barn 
with  a  pail  in  each  hand,  and  said,  with  smlooth  self- 
approval,  "  Well,  I  guess  I  must  go  and  see  after  mv 
milk." 

The  Kelwyns  passed  from  moods  of  hopeful  for 
bearance  to  moods  of  intolerant  despair,  but  there  was 
no  change  in  their  condition.  Often  it  seemed  to  them 
like  a  bad  dream  they  were  living,  and  once  Kelwyn 
said  that  he  felt  as  he  did  in  a  nightmare  when  he 
knew  lie  should  wake  and  find  it  was  only  a  nightmare. 
But  a  month  passed  in  their  nightmare,  and  they  did 
not  wake  from  it.  Then  one  morning  they  got  back  to 
that  point  where  they  must  go  and  see  the  Shakers,  and 
once  more  Kelwyn  said  he  would  get  the  horse. 

He  really  went  out  to  the  barn  and  asked  Kite  to  bring 
the  horse  and  buggy  to  the  house.  Kite  had  his  team 
hitched  to  his  mower,  and  was  beginning  to  curse  them 
out  into  the  road  toward  the  mowing  -  piece  of  the 
Shakers. 
4  43 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

He  glared  at  Kelwyn,  who  stood  firm  for  a  man 
whose  soul  shook  within  him,  and  swore  under  his 
breath.  But  the  terms  of  their  contract  seemed  to  recur 
to  him,  and  he  dropped  the  reins  and  went  about  har 
nessing  the  old  mare  appointed  for  the  Kelwyns'  use. 
Kelwyn  returned  to  the  house  with  the  perspiration 
starting  in  the  palms  of  his  hands,  and  did  not  come 
out  again  till  he  came  out  under  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  lee: 
by  that  time  Kite  had  left  the  buggy  at  the  door,  and 
was  hulking  back  to  the  barn  full  of  hushed  blasphemy 
from  the  crown  of  his  flap-brimmed  straw  hat  to  the 
soles  of  his  high-topped  rubber  boots. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  was  preoccupied  in  dramatizing  her 
scene  with  the  Office  Brother  at  the  Shakers,  and  did 
not  notice  the  fury  of  Kite.  She  rehearsed  the  scene 
aloud  most  of  the  way  to  the  Office,  and  it  appeared  that 
the  action  was  to  fall  altogether  to  Kelwyn ;  she  was  to 
remain  one  of  the  mute  witnesses  whose  silence  con 
tributes  on  the  stage  to  render  dialogue  effective. 

At  the  door  Brother  Jasper  met  them  with  a  letter, 
which  he  said  he  was  just  going  to  carry  them:  he 
wanted  to  ask  them  how  they  were  getting  on,  any 
way. 

"  Oh,  well,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  answered,  with  a  certain 
provisonality,  and  opened  the  letter  after  glancing  at 
the  superscription,  and  noting  to  her  husband :  "  It's 
from  Cousin  Thennie —  Good  gracious !"  she  gasped 
out,  after  a  glimpse  of  the  open  sheet.  "  She's  coming 
to  stay  over  Sunday!  Well,  she  mustn't;  she  can't! 
Elmer,  you  must  stop  her!  You  must  telegraph  her! 
With  everything  going  from  bad  to  worse,  you  must 
see  yourself  that  she  can't  come.  !N"ow,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  ?"  she  demanded,  and  at  the  same  time  she 
appealed  from  his  face  of  helpless  dismay  to  the  Office 
Sisters'  faces  of  helpless  sympathy.  "  I  was  just  com- 

44 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

ing  to  you/'  she  explained,  "  to  know  what  in  the  world 
we  can  do  about  the  Kites.  They  are  impossible." 

The  Office  Sisters  made  a  gentle  movement  of  hope 
less  intelligence.  Sister  Saranna  broke  the  silence  with, 
"  I  don't  know  as  I  want  to  criticise  Jasper  any,  but  I 
was  afraid!"  She  shut  her  lips  and  softly  shook  her 
head,  capped  in  stiff  white  gauze  from  the  nape  of  her 
neck  to  the  rims  of  her  steel-bowed  spectacles. 

"  And  here's  my  cousin,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  intensified 
the  case,  "  coming  out  over  Sunday  for  a  little  rest ! 
A  little  rest  in  that  house!  Will  you  telegraph  and 
stop  her,  Elmer?"  She  pushed  the  letter  at  him  and 
he  had  to  take  it.  "  Drive  to  the  station  instantly,  and 
I  will  stay  and  explain  to  the  Sisters,  and  see  what 
can  be  done.  Don't  lose  an  instant!" 

"  But  won't  it  be  rather  awkward,"  he  began,  "  stop 
ping  her  ?" 

"  Don't  say  such  a  thing,  Elmer !  Will  it  be  graceful 
to  let  her  come  ?  Oh,  go !" 

With  a  man's  fatuous  wish  to  escape  from  present 
trouble,  no  matter  what  destruction  his  flight  leads  to, 
Kelwyn  went  out  of  the  door,  and  his  wife  heard  him 
drive  off,  as  she  dropped  into  a  rocking-chair  and  began 
to  unfold  her  trouble  to  the  Sisters,  seated  in  rocking- 
chairs  before  her.  At  the  climaxes  she  made  pauses, 
and  in  the  pauses  the  three  women  rocked  excitedly 
toward  one  another. 

At  the  last  climax  of  all  Mrs.  Kelwyn  arrested  her 
self  in  the  act  of  plunging  violently  forward  on  her 
rocker  and  asked,  "  What's  that  ?"  It  was  a  sound  like 
the  unfolding  and  folding  of  a  newspaper,  which  seem 
ed  to  be  made  purposely  loud,  as  if  to  warn  them  of 
some  unseen  presence,  or  to  keep  a  hidden  witness  from 
the  involuntary  guilt  of  eavesdropping.  The  noise  came 
from  the  sort  of  parlor,  or  reading-room,  which  opened 

45 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

across  the  hallway  from  the  Office.  "  Is  there  some  one 
over  there  ?" 

The  taciturn  Sister  tittered,  and  Saranna  said: 
"  Poor  Jasper !  I  don't  know  what's  to  become  of 
him,  now.  He  was  just  going  to  ask  if  you  could  take 
the  young  man,  there,  in  with  you." 

"  A  boarder !"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  thought  she  had 
shrieked  it,  but  she  had  only  gasped  it,  in  the  sort  of 
hoarse  whisper  that  people  use  in  nightmares. 

"  Well,  no,"  Saranna  said.  "  More  like  a  roomer. 
He  could  get  his  meals  here,  I  guess.  But  all  our 
rooms  that  we  give  to  the  world  outside  are  taken  up 
by  the  visiting  Brothers  from  Canbury  for  the  week 
that's  to  come." 

"  We  couldn't  think  of  it,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  returned, 
promptly,  and  a  shade  indignantly. 

There  came  another  newspaper  stir  from  across  the 
hallway,  as  if  the  young  man  in  the  parlor  had  heard 
but  had  tried  not  to  hear. 

Saranna  said,  an  octave  lower :  "  That's  what  I  told 
Jasper.  But  he  seemed  to  think  that  if  you  felt  lone 
ly  any,  when  Friend  Kite  was  away,  daytimes,  it  might 
comfort  you  to  have  another  man  about  the  house.  I 
mean  if  Friend  Kelwyn  has  to  go  to  Boston,  ever." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  suspended  her  answer  with  a  frown. 
"  Does  he  want  to  stay  all  summer  ?" 

"  He  could  come  over  here  when  the  visiting  Brothers 
are  gone.  He  wants  to  work  in  the  garden  for  us." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  did  not  relax  her  frown.  "  Is  he  a 
laboring-man  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  he  is."  Saranna  rocked,  and 
smoothed  her  lap  with  one  hand,  while  she  kept  the 
other  on  her  breast.  "  He  ain't  sunburnt  any,  and  his 
hands  don't  look  it." 

"Whattshe?" 

46 


THE    VACATION    OF    THE    KELWYNS 

"  He  didn't  say." 

"  Well !" 

The  woman  had  sunk  their  voices  low,  and  now  they 
dropped  into  silence,  unbroken  by  the  creak  of  their 
rockers. 

The  young  man  made  a  louder  rustling  of  his  news 
paper,  and  a  clash,  self-explained  as  final  when  it  was 
followed  by  a  sound  of  his  rising.  He  came  across  the 
hall  with  what  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  even  in  her  dismay,  de 
cided  to  be  a  cultivated  walk,  and  showed  himself  in 
the  office  doorway.  He  was  well  enough  dressed,  but 
by  the  clothier  rather  than  the  tailor;  his  bearing 
was  gentle,  with  a  trace  of  involuntary  authority  of 
some  sort.  He  had  a  thoughtful  knot  between  his 
thoughtful  eyes;  his  face,  of  a  clean-shavenness  rare 
in  those  days,  showed  a  delicate  surface;  his  chin,  to 
which  he  put  up  a  long,  spare  hand,  was  fine ;  his  cheeks 
were  rather  thin,  as  those  of  youth  are  apt  to  be;  his 
still  gray  eyes  looked  out  under  straight,  brownish 
brows,  and  a  crop  of  light-colored  hair  refused  to  ob 
serve  any  careful  order  above  it. 

"  I  had  to  overhear  what  you  ladies  were  saying,"  he 
began,  in  a  quiet,  unimpassioned  tone,  as  if  he  had 
thought  the  matter  out  and  had  made  himself  personal 
ly  exterior  to  it  as  far  as  his  sensibilities  might  have 
been  concerned.  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  you  mustn't 
have  me  on  your  minds,  any  of  you.  I  can  understand 
why  it  wouldn't  always  be  desirable  to  receive  a  stranger 
under  one's  roof,  and  I'm  not  afraid  but  I  can  get  a 
room  somewhere  if  it  is  all  right  about  the  work.  As 
for  what  I  am,  I  am  a  laborer,  in  one  sense.  I  am  n 
teacher,  or  have  been ;  but  I  was  brought  up  on  a  farm, 
and  I  know  about  gardening.  This  is  my  vacation,  and 
I  like  to  work  while  I'm  resting."  He  paused,  and 
then  he  made  a  seriously  deferential  bend  toward  the 

47 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

ladies,  and  turned  and  walked  down  the  hall  toward  the 
threshold,  where  he  stood  leaning  against  the  door- 
jamb  looking  out,  while  Mrs.  Kelwyn  and  the  Office 
Sisters  sat  looking  at  one  another. 

It  appeared  that  he  had  gone  to  the  front  door  to 
be  the  more  readily  rid  of  his  embarrassment,  for  he 
returned  presently  toward  the  door  of  the  parlor,  where 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  arrested  him  with  an  apologetic  noise  in 
her  throat.  "  I  beg  your  pardon  ?"  he  questioned. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "  that  you  should  have  heard 
what  I  said.  But  perhaps  it  was  best.  I  wish  to  ex 
plain  that  besides  never  having  thought  of  an  inmate, 
we  are  in  the  hands  of  such  a  terrible  family  that  we 
don't  know  from  hour  to  hour  whether  we  shall  stay 
ourselves  in  the  house  we  have  taken.  It's  a  delight 
ful  house,  and  there  is  such  an  abundance  of  rooms  that 
I  don't  wonder  Brother  Jasper,  and  the  Sisters  here, 
thought  we  might  spare  one  for  you,  and  under  some 
circumstances —  She  found  herself  speaking  from  a 
kindness  for  this  young  man  which  had  won  upon  her, 
and  she  had  to  check  herself  somewhat  haughtily.  "  But 
as  it  is,  it  isn't  to  be  thought  of."  She  added,  with  new 
relenting :  "  I  mean  quite  as  much  on  your  account  as 
our  own.  I  couldn't  give  you  an  idea  of  the  strait  we 
are  in.  The  people  who  have,  as  our  tenants  —  it's 
rather  complicated,  but  I  needn't  burden  you  with  the 
details — undertaken  to  board  us  and  keep  house  for  us 
have  turned  out  perfect  failures.  They  can't  cook, 
and  they  are  careless  to  the  last  degree;  and  what  we 
shall  do,  after  getting  so  well  settled,  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know." 

She  addressed  her  troubles  to  a  certain  general  inter 
est  in  the  young  man's  face,  but  he  caught  at  one  point 
only.  "  Cook  ?"  he  tardily  echoed. 

"  No,  not  cook !    Not  the  least  in  the  world !" 

48 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  I  meant,"  he  said,  "  are  they  willing  to  learn  ?" 

"  Really,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  in  a  putting-down  tone, 
"  I  don't  know.  But  I  am  not  willing  to  teach." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  the  young  man  returned, 
gently. 

Though  he  was  still  not  what  she  would  have  called  a 
gentleman,  he  was  more  and  more  evidently  a  person  of 
some  sort  of  refinement.  She  felt  a  rise  of  respect  for 
him  when  he  now  added :  "  As  a  visitor  for  the  Asso 
ciated  Charities,  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  domestic  life 
of  the  poor,  and  I  didn't  find  the  cooking  so  bad  in  any 
of  the  foreign  households  as  our  ISTew  England  coun 
try  fare.  Somebody  ought  to  go  into  the  farm  kitchens 
and  teach  the  women,  by  precept  and  example  both, 
that  cookery  is  a  science,  and  that  it  is  to  be  studied 
and  respected  as  such." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  had  gone  forward  to  the  door  of  the 
parlor  where  the  young  man  had  halted  when  she  ad 
dressed  him,  and  they  had  remained  there  talking, 
while  the  Office  Sisters  went  about  their  household 
functions.  She  was  going  to  reply  in  cordial  acquies 
cence  with  him,  when  she  was  arrested  by  the  noise  of 
wheels  on  the  gravel  before  the  office,  and  the  voice  of 
her  husband  calling  a  more  vigorous  "  Whoa !"  to  their 
old  mare  than  would  have  brought  a  far  more  impetuous 
animal  to  a  stand.  At  the  same  time  a  girl's  voice  joy 
ously  shouted,  "  Hello,  Cousin  Carry !" 

"  Good  gracious !"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  groaned,  in  a  sotto 
voce  dismay ;  but  she  cried  gayly,  as  she  hurried  toward 
the  front  door,  "  Why,  are  you  there,  Thennie  ?" 

"  Yes,"  the  girl's  voice  answered.  "  I  decided  I 
wouldn't  wait  for  my  letter  to  reach  you ;  I  would  come 
and  tell  you  myself.  Wasn't  that  thoughtful  of  me  ?" 

An  emotional  tumult  of  cries  and  kisses  now  reached 
the  young  man  where  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had  left  him,  and 

49 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

amid  a  jubilation  of  welcome  from  her,  and  ejaculated 
explanations  from  the  girl,  he  heard  from  Mrs.  Kelwyn 
such  specific  bursts  of  anxiety,  addressed  to  her  hus 
band,  as :  "  Did  you  get  the  steak  ?  And  some  fresh 
butter  ?  And  bakers'  bread  ?  I  hope  you  remembered 
the  bacon !  And  the  prunes  ?  You  didn't  forget  some 
English  breakfast  tea  and  a  bit  of  cheese!  The 
crackers?  Well,  then,  I  think  we  can  live  through 
your  visit,  Thennie." 

There  followed  question  of  whether  the  buggy  seat 
would  hold  all  three  of  them,  and  then  there  followed 
a  sound  of  creaking  springs  and  a  crunching  and  grind 
ing  of  wheels,  with  some  laughs  of  terror,  and  the  buggy 
rattled  away,  and  the  young  man  went  to  the  parlor 
window  and  watched  its  retreat  down  the  road  toward 
the  South  Family  House. 


VIII 

PAETHEITOPE  BROOK  was  not  Kelwyn's  cousin,  as  one 
might  have  inferred  from  the  note  of  inculpation  in 
Mrs.  Kelwyn's  voice  when  she  read  her  letter  over  in 
the  Office.  She  was  a  just  woman,  as  she  believed; 
Parthenope  was  her  own  cousin,  and  she  could  not  deny 
it ;  she  would  not,  perhaps,  have  denied  it  if  she  could. 
The  girl  was  not  even  a  first  cousin;  she  was  a  first 
cousin  once  removed,  and  in  this  fact  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had 
an  additional  motive  for  acquitting  her  husband  of 
the  blame  which  she  at  first  involuntarily  laid  upon 
him.  If  the  girl's  coming  without  being  asked  was, 
under  the  circumstances,  an  indiscretion  not  far  from 
a  liberty,  still  it  was  not  a  liberty  from  his  side  of  the 
family,  as  she  more  and  more  clearly  recognized  in 
more  and  more  reconciling  herself  to  the  situation.  She 
began,  on  the  way  from  the  Office  to  the  South  Family 
House,  to  bow  to  the  stroke,  and  before  she  reached  the 
house  she  was  ready  to  acknowledge  that  nobody  was 
to  blame;  hardly  the  girl  herself  was  to  blame.  The 
way  Parthenope  listened  to  the  story  which  Mrs.  Kel 
wyn  more  continuously  than  coherently  poured  out  upon 
her  was  a  positive  merit,  and  it  ended  in  a  climax  of 
the  virtues  inherent  in  Mrs.  Kelwyn' s  family. 

The  girl  was  no  longer  in  her  early  twenties,  but  she 
seemed  much  younger,  perhaps  because  she  had  been 
born  of  very  youthful  parents,  who  had  gone  out  from 
a  Boston  suburb  to  Italy  in  those  simple  days  when 
living  in  Italy  was  almost  a  brevet  of  genius.  The 

51 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Brooks  were  both  artists,  but  after  tlieir  baby  came  Mrs. 
Brook  grew  rather  more  a  mother  and  less  a  painter, 
and  her  husband  rather  more  a  sculptor  if  not  less 
a  father.  He  devoted  himself  to  the  sort  of  genre 
sculpture  which  was  then  of  easier  sale  than  now,  but 
he  thought  himself  fortunate  to  be  put  under  agreement 
with  a  Boston  house  which  dealt  in  objects  of  art  as 
well  as  watches,  clocks,  and  jewelry  to  give  it  all  he 
could  do,  or,  as  the  contracting  partner  phrased  it,  his 
entire  output,  for  a  fixed  sum  annually.  The  first  year 
of  this  arrangement  had  not  expired  when  he  and  his 
wife  both  died  of  Roman  fever,  which  foreigners  liv 
ing  in  Rome  formerly  contended  could  be  taken  only  in 
Naples,  where  the  Brooks  had  gone  for  some  of  the 
classic  motives  of  genre  sculpture  to  be  best  studied 
there  in  the  Museo  Borbonico. 

It  was  in  Naples  that  their  little  one  was  born,  and 
in  recognition  of  the  classic  name  of  the  city  they  called 
her  Parthenope.  At  times  they  did  not  know  but  they 
had  weighed  the  child  down  with  a  name  too  massive 
for  such  a  mite;  but  they  justly  held  that  Parthenope 
and  Brook  were  words  that  flowed  musically  together; 
they  began  by  calling  her  Thennie,  and  in  their  lifetime 
they  never  got  so  far  as  Parthenope.  The  aunt,  who 
had  brought  her  home  after  they  died,  had  wished  to 
use  the  full  name,  but  she  was  not  able  to  do  so  at 
once,  in  her  tenderness  for  the  orphan  baby.  Par 
thenope  herself,  as  soon  as  she  arrived  at  the  conscious 
ness  of  young  ladyhood,  and  the  sense  of  dignity  which 
is  more  abounding  at  sixteen  than  at  twenty-six,  always 
wrote  herself  Parthenope  Brook.  She  asked  her  girl 
friends  to  address  her  so,  and  two  or  three  of  the  nearest 
tried  to  do  it,  but  to  the  others  she  was  Thennie  Brook, 
as  she  continued  to  be  with  Miss  Brook,  her  aunt,  and 

with  her  cousins  the  Kelwyns,  and  all  her  elder  contein- 

52 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

poraries.  The  world  had  not  yet  arrived  at  the  mood  in 
which  it  now  rejects  pet  names  and  nicknames,  and 
gives  young  people  the  full  count  of  their  baptismal 
syllables,  and  with  most  of  Parthenope's  fellow-students 
at  the  Art  School,  to  whom  she  condescended  from  a 
higher  social  level,  there  was  an  instinctive  reluctance 
to  add  possibly  to  the  altitude  she  maintained  by  any 
sort  of  concession.  She  was  not  exactly  conceited,  the 
girls  who  analyzed  their  feelings  toward  her  said;  she 
was  not  exactly  topping;  but,  if  you  could  understand, 
she  was  so  full  of  initiative  (her  critics  valued  them 
selves  on  the  word,  which  one  of  them  had  got  out  of  a 
review)  as  to  need  all  the  putting  down  you  could  quiet 
ly  give  her ;  in  fact,  her  initiative  might  be  called  self- 
sufficiency,  though  that,  her  critics  owned,  was  over- 
saying  it  rather.  At  the  worst,  perhaps,  she  was  dis 
posed  to  offer  gratuitous  instruction,  which  would  have 
come  with  better  grace  from  one  who  was  herself  a  more 
devoted  student,  and  did  not  help  herself  out  so  much 
with  chic.  But  she  was  often  really  very  nice,  and  her 
wish  to  control  other  people  sometimes  passed  into  self- 
control,  and  then  she  really  was  nice. 

Her  initiative  had  early  made  itself  felt  with  her 
aunt,  who  lapsed  year  by  year  from  the  pitying  au 
thority  in  which  the  child's  bereavement  had  placed 
her,  and  let  Parthenope  have  her  way  in  most  things. 
The  consequence  was  that  Parthenope  grew  up  with 
something  like  over  -  initiative  as  regarded  her  aunt, 
whose  life  she  regulated  according  to  her  own  concep 
tions  of  what  was  good  for  her,  rather  than  her  aunt's 
vague  preferences.  Her  aunt  went,  or  came,  or  re 
mained,  much  as  Parthenope  decided,  and  neither  re 
alized  that  Parthenope  had  decided,  though  the  fact 
was  clear  to  spectators.  Certainly  the  girl  was  all  af 
fection  and  thoughtf ulness ;  and  if  in  the  present  late 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

cold  spring  she  had  decided  that  they  had  better  stay  in 
Boston  till  well  toward  the  summer  instead  of  going  as 
early  as  usual  to  Pigeon  Cove,  where  one  died  of  one'? 
own  dulness  in  the  old-fashioned  resort,  she  had  not  de^ 
cided  selfishly,  if  she  could  judge  from  her  sufferings  in 
the  wilderness  that  Boston  had  become  in  June.  It  was 
a  wilderness  that  she  said  did  not  even  howl,  and  amid 
its  silence  there  had  one  night  come  to  her  the  question 
whether  she  was  getting  all  the  good  out  of  the  Art 
School  which  might  have  come  to  her  in  some  atelier 
abroad,  say  Paris.  While  her  aunt,  in  the  comfort 
of  her  old  home  on  the  Hill,  contentedly  waited  Parthe- 
nope's  initiative,  and  sometimes  even  said  that  she  did 
not  see  why  they  should  go  away  at  all,  the  girl  began 
to  let  her  initiative  get  the  better  of  her  in  the  direction 
of  Europe.  In  tacitly  yielding  to  it,  she  hoped  that  she 
was  not  unreasonable,  and  she  knew  she  was  not  fan 
tastic;  but  if  not  Europe,  was  there  not  some  other 
place  they  could  go  to  for  the  summer  I  This  question 
recurred  the  more  persistently  because  her  aunt  would 
have  been  so  placidly  willing  to  go  anywhere  she  said, 
and  thus  put  her  on  her  conscience. 

What  she  really  wanted,  it  now  came  to  her  in  a  flash, 
was  a  fresh  point  of  view,  and  in  another  flash  it  came 
to  her  that  there  could  be  no  point  of  view  so  fresh  as 
that  of  her  cousins  the  Kelwyns,  from  that  house  which 
they  had  so  quaintly  taken  from  a  Shaker  community. 
It  was  a  thing  so  original  that  she  would  not  have  ex 
pected  it  of  them  on  any  other  ground  than  economy, 
for  she  knew  they  were  rather  poor;  at  the  first  she 
had  felt  some  stirrings  of  curiosity  as  to  their  experi 
ment,  but  these  had  already  quite  subsided  before  she 
now  suddenly  perceived  that  there  was  no  one  she  could 
advise  with  so  hopefully.  She  at  first  thought  of  sur 
prising  the  Kelwyns  and  then  not  quite  surprising  them, 

54 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

and  when  she  wrote  that  she  was  coming  she  did  not 
really  mean  to  leave  them  without  the  choice  or  the 
chance  of  forbidding  her  to  come. 

One  of  Parthenope  Brook's  ideals  was  a  regard  for 
others  which  she  did  not  attempt  to  realize  in  an  al 
truistic  devotion  to  need  of  any  kind,  so  much  as  in 
the  divination  of  comfortable  people's  rights  and  the 
resolution  to  square  them  with  her  duties.  She  was 
strictly  a  product  of  the  country  and  city  which  she 
could  hardly  remember  were  not  her  native  country 
and  city,  and  of  her  time,  which  was  the  same  wherever 
cultivated  persons  were  born.  It  was  the  time  when 
youth  was  very  much  characterized  by  its  reading,  which 
was  very  much  more  in  poetry  than  it  is  now,  and  by 
fiction  which  it  must  be  owned  was  better,  with  all  its 
faults,  than  the  fiction  glutting  the  souls  of  our  con 
temporary  youth.  After  the  prevalence  of  Italian  with 
the  better  class  intellectuals,  there  had  followed  a 
tide  of  German,  in  the  ebb  of  which  Parthenope  was 
stranded  upon  a  narrow  acquaintance  with  German 
poetry ;  she  had  read  a  few  songs  of  Heine  and  ballads 
of  IJhland  in  the  original ;  she  could  sing  two  or  three, 
and  she  was  considered  by  other  girls  a  perfect  German 
scholar.  In  English  literature  Swinburne  had  then 
risen  and  filled  the  sky  with  a  light  which  was  not 
quite  steadfast,  and  Browning  was  a  growing  cult,  but 
Tennyson  was  supremely  read  and  quoted  in  such  meas- 
are  as  almost  to  color  the  whole  parlance  of  emotion. 
Longfellow  was  held  in  a  tender  and  reverent  esteem; 
the  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table  still  ruled  the 
words  and  thoughts  of  his  fellow-citizens  and  fellow- 
countrymen,  and  the  cold  fire  of  Emerson  was  increas 
ingly  lighting  if  not  heating  their  minds.  In  Par- 
thenope's  peculiar  circle,  Thackeray  was  held  a  cynic 

and  a  pessimist,  especially  regarding  women,  and  was 

55 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

only  found  out  by  the  prophetic  few  a  kindly  sentiment 
alist.  She  had  been  taken  by  her  aunt  to  hear  Dickens 
read  in  Tremont  Temple,  after  her  aunt's  serving-man 
had  stood  in  line  all  night  to  get  tickets  for  them  in  the 
coldest  December  weather  known  even  in  Boston.  Lect 
ures  of  all  kinds  were  still  much  frequented,  but  they 
were  already  degenerating  from  the  edification  of  the 
intellectually  elect  to  the  amusement  of  the  common- 
schooled  masses.  The  theatre  held  a  doubtful  place  in 
the  honor  and  pleasure  of  the  great  world,  which  was 
in  Boston  as  elsewhere  the  small  world.  Fechter,  Sal- 
vini,  Bernhardt,  Ristori,  the  younger  Kean,  were  some 
of  the  planets  from  the  remoter  skies  which  lured  the 
upper  classes  to  the  noble  old  Boston  Theatre,  where 
strange  meteoric  splendors  of  Offenbach  opera  mis 
led  them  from  the  truth  illustrated  by  the  Symphony 
Concerts. 

Girls  of  Parthenope's  age,  however,  were  formed 
rather  upon  the  novel  than  the  drama.  George  Eliot, 
Charles  Reade,  Kingsley,  Mrs.  Gaskell  and  lessor 
sybils,  with  the  nascent  American  fictionists  of  the 
Atlantic  Monthly  school,  inculcated  a  varying  doctrine 
of  eager  conscience,  romanticized  actuality,  painful  de 
votion,  and  bullied  adoration,  with  auroral  gleams  of 
religious  sentimentality.  Womanhood  stood  high  in  the 
temple  of  the  cult  where  the  votaries  of  these  authors 
worshipped.  Parthenope  herself  had  never  observed 
among  her  acquaintance  that  girls  were  really  nicer 
than  young  men,  but  she  believed  that  they  ought 
to  be  won  by  heroes  who  sacrificed  or  ventured  a  great 
deal  for  them,  rescued  them  from  some  sort  of  peril,  or 
risked  their  lives  for  them  even  when  they  were  not  in 
danger;  if  not,  they  must  fall  a  prey  themselves  to 
some  terrible  accident,  or  be  seized  Avith  some  sick 
ness  in  which  the  heroines  could  nurse  them  up  from 

56 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  brink  of  death  to  the  loftier  levels  of  life  in  happy 
marriage.  If  a  hero  would  not  fall  sick,  or  imperil  life 
or  limb,  or  sublimely  rest  guiltless  under  the  blame  of 
some  shame  or  crime  that  would  otherwise  be  laid  to 
the  heroine's  charge,  he  could  believe  some  other  man 
in  love  with  her  and  give  her  up  to  him.  This  would 
go  far  to  win  her,  especially  if  the  hero  died  of  his 
renunciation  or  fell  into  a  decline.  On  her  part  there 
was  a  reciprocal  duty  to  give  him  up  to  somie  girl 
whom  she  knew  to  be  in  love  with  him,  though  she 
knew  also  that  he  was  in  love  with  herself.  But,  gen 
erally  speaking,  heroines  were  born,  not  made  or  self- 
made  ;  one  need  only  be  of  the  female  sex  in  order  to  be 
the  aim  and  desire  of  the  noblest  of  men.  As  yet  the 
baddish  heroine  did  not  abound,  and  the  married  flirt 
spread  ruin  only  in  a  restricted  area.  A  hero  might 
properly  be  of  the  moneyed  or  leisure  classes,  but  he 
was  best  as  some  sort  of  artist,  because  more  portable 
than  the  business  or  professional  man,  who  could  not 
follow^  the  heroine  so  far  afield  in  her  summer  dis- 
occupation.  He  must  not  keep  a  shop  or  be  a  mechanic, 
but  he  could  very  well  be  of  the  simplest  origin,  like 
David  Dodd  in  Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long,  and 
could  easily  win  a  fastidious  and  patrician  heroine  by 
the  force  of  his  native  genius  or  fervent  passion. 

There  was  a  moment  when  Parthenope  had  thought 
of  writing  stories ;  she  sent  a  few  manuscripts  about  to 
editors ;  but  her  attention  was  turned  to  art  in  time  to 
console  her  for  their  rejection.  Athletics,  on  anything 
like  the  present  scale,  were  as  yet  not;  but  aesthetics 
were  even  more  than  they  are  now.  In  the  form  then 
called  household  art  they  abandoned  themselves  to  the 
decoration  of  interiors;  their  storks  stood  about  on 
one  leg  on  stone  bottles,  flower-pots,  and  chair-backs 
everywhere;  their  lilies  and  rushes  bent  and  bristled  on 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  panels  of  all  the  doors.  Almost  anything  might  be 
done  with  tiles,  especially  encaustic  tiles,  and  a  great 
deal  might  be  accomplished  in  the  simpler  interiors 
with  square-headed  brass  spikes;  Eastlake  furniture 
and  Morris'  wall-paper  were  equally  sources  of  inspira 
tion.  Kuskin  was  the  absolute  authority  in  the  realm  of 
architecture;  much  was  still  expected  of  the  Gothic; 
and  in  the  mean  time  the  cities  and  suburbs  were  filled 
with  empirical  guesses  in  brick  and  wood,  which  still 
largely  remain  the  wonder  of  posterity.  Parthenope 
had  once  fancied  in  her  early  revolt  from  the  un 
realities  of  household  art  of  being  herself  an  architect ; 
but,  as  she  was  a  girl  of  decided  and  unswerving  pur 
pose,  she  ended  by  entering  the  school  of  the  Museum 
of  Fine  Arts,  which  she  might  or  might  not  make  the 
gateway  to  the  great  world  of  painting  in  Europe.  In 
the  mean  time  she  drew  with  fitful  industry  under  her 
masters,  and  chicqued  a  kind  of  water-colors,  which  she 
knew  she  had  not  invented  and  which  she  did  not  wholly 
respect. 


IX 


AFTER  what  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had  now  told  her,  and  still 
more  after  what  she  had  said  she  could  not  begin  to 
tell  her,  Parthenope  could  not  have  been  surprised  that 
Mrs.  Kite  was  not  at  the  door  to  receive  them.  But 
with  spirits  uplifted  by  the  glory  of  the  June  day,  and 
with  senses  filled  with  the  odor  of  the  clover-heads  and 
the  blackberry  blossoms  of  the  roadsides,  and  the  song 
of  the  bobolinks  and  orioles  in  the  fields  and  dooryards 
on  the  way  from  the  station,  all  the  pathos  of  Mrs. 
Kelwyn's  squalid  tragedy  could  not  blight  her.  From 
the  provisions  which  Kelwyn  had  laid  in  at  the  village 
store  she  capably  helped  prepare  a  meal  at  which  she 
could  not  have  imagined  herself  an  unwelcome  guest; 
she  laid  the  table  with  a  fresh  cloth,  and  with  cutlery 
and  china  rubbed  for  double  assurance  of  cleanliness 
after  Mrs.  Kite's  washing  and  wiping;  so  that  when 
Kelwyn  had  opened  the  can  of  tongue  which  he  had 
got  unbidden,  and  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had  sliced  it  and  cut 
the  loaf  of  baker's  bread,  they  had  what  she  hoped 
she  was  not  swearing  in  calling  a  picnic  for  the 
gods.  In  order  that  the  nectar  to  wash  down  the  am 
brosia  should  not  be  steeped  to  the  strength  of  lye, 
which  was  still  Mrs.  Kite's  notion  of  tea,  Mrs.  Kelywii 
had  asked  her  with  careful  politeness  to  let  her  have  the 
canister  on  the  table,  and  to  bring  a  pitcher  of  hot  water 
from  the  stove;  she  had  to  praise,  almost  with  tears, 
the  thoughtfulness  of  her  husband  in  having  provided 

5  59 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

a  can  of  condensed  milk  which  could  not  be  cowy  or 
speckled. 

Parthenope  had  foraged  for  wild  flowers  among  those 
which  grew  in  the  pasture  just  over  the  stone  wall,  and 
had  filled  a  tall  jug  with  columbines,  clover-heads,  and 
pink  and  white  laurel ;  and  she  dropped,  from  the  final 
task  of  arranging  them,  into  her  chair,  and  announced 
herself  as  hungry  as  a  bear.  Her  coarse,  yellowish- 
brown  hair  was,  in  fact,  not  unlike  the  pelt  of  a  cin 
namon  bear  in  color,  but  in  the  classic  knot  at  the  nape 
of  her  rounded  neck,  and  the  dull  rose  of  her  cheeks, 
and  her  regular  human  features,  there  was  nothing 
to  remind  one  of  a  wild  animal;  even  her  eyes,  which 
were  gray  and  rather  large,  did  not  carry  the  idea  of 
anything  savage  to  the  beholder.  She  was  rather  tall, 
in  the  fashion  which  quite  so  long  ago  as  the  early 
seventies  was  beginning  to  prevail  among  girls,  but  she 
was  of  no  such  towering  height  as  now  puts  to  shame  the 
dwarfish  stature  of  most  men.  One  of  the  more  notice 
able  features  of  her  make-up,  if  hands  are  features, 
were  her  beautiful,  long,  rather  large,  and  most  capable- 
looking  hands.  Though  she  had  used  them  mostly  in 
drawing  from  the  round,  the  flat,  and  the  nude  of  late, 
and  in  chicquing  her  more  original  studies  in  com 
position,  she  had  earlier  employed  them  in  putting  and 
keeping  her  aunt's  house  in  order,  both  directly  and 
indirectly.  She  could,  almost  congenitally,  cook  and 
sweep  and  sew,  and  the  time  had  been  when  it  had 
seemed  as  if  her  gift  lay  in  the  direction  of  being 
mistress  of  a  house  of  her  own.  But  this  was  distinct 
ly  before  her  genius  for  painting  had  so  strongly  mani 
fested  itself,  though  now  she  recurred  to  those  earlier 
inspirations  with  a  pleasure  which  she  felt  in  all  the 
fingers  of  her  beautiful  hands.  But  she  had  hardly 
begun  to  serve  herself  with  them  in  the  satisfaction  of 

60 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  sylvan  famine  she  had  boasted  when  she  dropped 
her  knife  and  fork  and  demanded,  "  Where  are  the 
boys  ?" 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  started  back,  too.  "  Why,  Elmer, 
where  are  the  children  ?" 

aThe  children?"  he  echoed.  "I'm  sure  I  don't 
know.  We  left  them  playing  about  here  with  that 
Kite  boy  when  we  went  to  the  Shakers'.  Perhaps  they 
haven't  heard  the  bell." 

"  There  hasn't  been  any  bell  for  them  to  hear,"  the 
girl  said,  and  she  caught  up  the  bell  from  the  table,  as 
she  jumped  from  her  chair,  and  rang  it  at  the  open 
window.  "  That  will  fetch  them,  I  hope." 

It  fetched  Mrs.  Kite,  who  appeared  from  the  kitchen 
door.  "  Did  anybody  ring  ?"  she  asked,  in  her  sweet 
treble. 

"  Oh !"  the  girl  said,  in  dignified  apology.  "  I  was 
ringing  for  the  boys.  I  suppose  they  don't  know  lunch 
eon  is  ready." 

In  the  anxieties  of  her  hospitality,  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had 
forgotten  her  children,  but  the  fact  seemed  to  her  at 
first  so  much  out  of  character  that  she  made  a  feint 
of  ignoring  it.  She  had  known  mothers  do  very  strange 
things  with  their  families  in  moments  of  social  pre 
occupation,  and  she  would  have  excused  this  aberra 
tion  of  her  own  if  she  had  been  of  a  lower  ideal  con 
cerning  her  duty  to  her  children ;  but,  as  it  was,  some 
one  must  suffer  for  it,  and  now  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Kite,  with  severity,  "  If  they're  with  your  little 
boy,  will  you  please  send  them  to  luncheon  imme 
diately?" 

Mrs.  Kite  relaxed  in  a  laugh.  "  Well,  I  guess  they're 
with  Arthur  fast  enough,  wherever  he  is.  They  all 
went  off  together,  the  last  I  see  of  them,  with  that  old 
hoss." 

61 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  referred  the  strange  fact  to  her  hus 
band,  who  asked,  "  What  old  horse  V9 

"  Well,"  Mrs.  Kite  responded,  tolerantly,  "  I  don't 
know  as  you  did  notice  him  before  you  left  this  mornin'. 
He  come  up  the  road  from  down  Ellison  way,  and  all 
three  boys  piled  after  him.  I  guess  he's  a  boss  that 
somebody's  turned  out  to  die ;  he's  a  perfect  stranger  to 
me,  though ;  large  white  boss,  blind  on  the  off  side,  and 
awful  frail  -  lookin'.  Mr.  Kite  had  gone  off  to  his 
ploughin'  by  that  time,  and  one  of  the  boys  catched  him 
by  the  foretop  and  they  all  three  got  onto  him." 

Kelwyn  followed  her  through  the  pronouns  to  the  fact 
that  the  boys  had  mounted  the  horse  and  not  Kite. 
"  And  where  did  they  go  ?" 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  got  me  there,"  she  submitted, 
and  she  joined  the  Kelwyns  at  the  window  in  looking 
up  and  down  the  road. 

"They  couldn't  got  far,"  she  said.  "That  boss 
couldn't  get  anywhere  with  'em  if  he  done  his  best." 
She  bent  this  way  and  that,  looking  over  one  shoulder 
and  then  the  other  of  Parthenope.  "  Why,  there  they 
are  now,  just  risin'  the  hill,  and  there's  somebody 
leadin'  him !  Well,  they  didn't  have  no  bridle." 

The  Kelwyns  and  their  cousin  ran  down-stairs  and 
out-of-doors  to  meet  the  wanderers.  When  they  came 
near,  the  two  Kelwyn  boys  burst  into  a  loud  crying ;  the 
Kite  boy,  from  no  personal  motive,  joined  them,  where 
they  sat  on  the  horse's  back  with  their  little  legs  spread 
far  apart,  and  clinging,  the  foremost  to  his  mane,  and 
the  others  keeping  on  their  perch  by  clasping  each  other 
round  the  waist. 

"  We  got  lost,  papa !"  Francy  called  to  his  father. 
Carl,  apparently,  could  not  do  better  than  repeat,  "  We 
got  lost,  papa,"  and  he  repeated  his  brother's  further 
explanation  inculpating  the  Kite  boy.  "  He  wanted  us 

62 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

to  get  on,  and  then  we  couldn't  stop  him  because  we 
hadn't  any  bridle,  and  we  couldn't  get  off  because  it 
was  so  hi-i-gh  I"  They  rose  an  octave  in  the  close  and 
sobbed  loudly. 

Their  father  called,  "  Well,  well !  Never  mind ;  it's 
all  right  now.  Don't  cry."  Whatever  obscure  notion 
he  had  of  teaching  them  a  hardy  spirit  was  not  shared 
by  his  wife  and  her  cousin,  who  ran  forward,  the  first 
with  a  cry  of,  "  Hush,  hush !"  and  the  other  with  a 
laugh  of,  "  Oh,  you  poor  darlings !"  and  embraced  each 
a  leg  of  the  Kelwyn  boys,  abandoning  the  Kite  boy  to 
a  moral  isolation  on  the  horse's  neck,  where  he  vainly 
continued  to  lift  up  his  lament.  The  effect  of  his  grief 
was  to  extract  from  his  mother  a  promise  which  she 
kept  her  head  out  of  the  window  above  to  deliver,  "  I'll 
give  it  to  you,  Mr.  Arthur,  when  I  get  round  to  you." 

This  at  least  was  something,  and  it  so  far  consoled 
the  boy  that  he  looked  down  at  the  face  of  the  young 
man  who  was  holding  the  old  horse  by  his  foretop,  and 
smiled  through  his  tears  as  if  recognizing  a  kindred 
spirit  who  could  enter  into  a  joke.  As  yet,  neither  of 
the  women  who  were  clinging  to  the  legs  of  the  Kelwyn 
boys  had  made  any  sign  of  seeing  their  rescuer,  but 
Kelwyn  himself  now  came  forward  and  said,  politely: 
"  You're  very  good  to  have  taken  so  much  trouble  with 
these  scamps.  Where  did  you  find  them  ?" 

"  Not  very  far  off,"  the  young  man  answered.  "  Just 
beyond  the  Office  at  the  Shakers'." 

The  sound  of  his  voice  seemed  to  recall  Mrs.  Kelwyn 
to  herself,  and  she  said,  "  Oh !"  As  the  young  man 
released  the  foretop  of  the  horse,  which  immediately 
fell  to  mumbling  feebly  at  the  wayside  grass,  and 
dusted  his  hands  together,  she  began :  "  I  beg  your  par 
don.,  Isn't  this  the  gentleman  I  met  at  the  Office  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  and  then  there  was  a  pause  whiclr 

63 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

she  decided  to  terminate  in  the  only  possible  way  under 
the  circumstances. 

"  May  I  introduce  my  husband,  Mr.— 

"  My  name  is  Emerance." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !     And  my  cousin,  Miss  Brook." 

Parthenope  and  the  young  man  bowed,  Kelwyn  shook 
his  hand,  and  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said  toward  her  husband, 
"  Mr.  Emerance  is  staying  with  the  Shakers  for  a  few 
days,"  and  she  looked  one  of  those  comprehensive  looks 
at  Kelwyn  which  wives  explain  too  late  as  meaning 
that  their  husbands  shall  be  nice  but  cautious,  and 
kind  without  committing  themselves.  Perhaps  Kel 
wyn  might  have  understood  her  look;  but  just  then 
she  loosed  her  grasp  of  her  son's  leg,  and  Parthenope 
dropped  the  leg  of  the  other  boy.  The  old  horse  made 
a  witless  movement  forward,  and  as  if  they  were  the 
crew  of  a  ship  dragging  her  anchor,  the  boys  wailed 
over  their  shoulders,  "  We  haven't  had  anything  to 
e-e-eat,  mamma,"  and,  "  We're  awfully  hungry,  mam 
ma,"  the  younger  echoing  the  elder,  as  before,  and 
prolonging  his  cadences  in  a  shriller  key. 

Then  the  mother  in  Mrs.  Kelwyn  betrayed  the  wom 
an  of  the  world,  and  she  said,  "  Well,  don't  cry;  din 
ner  is  on  the  table  now,  and —  Elmer !  Will  you  lift 
them  down  ?" 

"  Let  me  lift  them  down !"  Parthenope  demanded. 
She  swung  Carl  earthward  through  the  air,  and  the 
stranger  did  the  like  with  Francy.  Both  boys  stumbled, 
their  legs  having  fallen  asleep,  and  saved  themselves 
from  falling  by  a  clutch  on  their  cousin's  and  mother's 
skirts.  The  Kite  boy,  restored  to  cheerfulness,  dug  his 
heels  into  the  horse's  ribs,  and  the  horse,  moved  by  an 
instinct  of  food  and  shelter,  jolted  crookedly  off  toward 
the  barn. 


IX 


MES.  KELWYN  turned  from  watching  him  and  bent 
a  still  absent-minded  eye  upon  the  young  man  whom 
his  retreat  had  left  upon  her  hands,  but  Kelwyn,  real 
izing  that  the  stranger,  who  had  been  so  kind,  had 
probably  come  out  of  his  way  and  left  his  dinner  at 
the  Shakers'  to  bring  their  lost  boys  to  them,  said: 
"  Won't  you  come  and  dine  with  us,  Mr.  Emerance  ? 
We  were  just  sitting  down." 

His  words  recalled  Mrs.  Kelwyn  to  herself;  she  said, 
in  afterward  reproving  him,  that  she  was  just  going  to 
make  the  invitation;  and  whether  this  was  so  or  not 
she  now  did  it.  "  Why,  yes,  Mr.  Emerance,  you  must 
stay,  of  course.  I  was  so  distracted  by  that  wretched 
animal,"  she  apologized. 

The  young  man  demurred  that  the  Shakers  would 
be  waiting  his  dinner  for  him,  but  he  did  not  demur 
much.  At  the  end  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  "  Elmer,  will 
you  show  Mr.  Emerance  to  a  room  ?  And  we  will  be 
ready  as  soon  as  you  are."  As  the  two  men  moved 
away  submissively  she  mused  aloud,  horror-strickenly, 
"  I  don't  suppose  she's  put  either  water  or  towels !" 

"  Let  me  go  and  see,  Cousin  Carry,"  Parthenope  de 
manded,  and  she  ran  round  the  men  and  so  quickly 
ahead  that  by  the  time  Mrs.  Kelywn  had  followed  from 
the  outside  with  her  hungry  and  whimpering  boys 
Parthenope  was  coming  from  her  own  room  with  a 
heavy  water-pitcher  between  her  hands  and  towels  hang 
ing  from  one  of  her  tense  arms. 


THE    .VACATION    OF    THE    KELWYNS 

"You  were  quite  right,  Cousin  Carry,"  she  said,  over 
her  shoulder,  "  and  I  can  get  some  for  myself  just  as 
well  afterward."  Then  Mrs.  Kelwyn  heard  her  hus 
band's  dry-voiced  recognition  of  Parthenope's  service 
within  the  room  where  he  had  taken  the  guest,  with  the 
young  man's  grave  protest  and  the  girl's  gay  insist 
ence. 

After  leaving  the  men  to  follow  her  to  the  dining- 
room,  she  had  a  moment  there  with  Mrs.  Kelwyn  for 
one  of  those  formulations  of  motive  which  women  some 
times  find  essential  with  each  other  and  sometimes  not. 
"  I  thought  I  would  do  it,  for  if  we  kept  him  waiting 
till  Mrs.  Kite  could  get  them  it  would  embarrass  him 
still  more." 

"  Yes,  of  course.  Though  I  don't  know  that  he  seems 
very  embarrassed." 

"  That's  what  I  meant.  That  stiffness  of  theirs  is 
always  so  amusing.  One  wouldn't  do  anything  in  the 
world  to  let  them  see  that  one  noticed  it."  She  glanced 
at  the  table.  "  I'll  get  a  plate  for  him.  If  we  made 
Mrs.  Kite —  Shall  I  put  him  with  the  boys  or  let 
him  have  your  whole  right-hand  side  to  himself?  Or 
would  that  be  too  ceremonious  ?  He  shall  have  Francy 
next  him,  and  I  will  take  Carl  under  my  wing." 

"  I  think  that  will  be  best,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  assented, 
still  from  the  daze  that  the  whole  incident  had  wrapt 
her  in.  Her  distraction  gave  her  an  effect  of  hauteur 
toward  their  guest  when  her  husband  returned  with 
him,  and  she  assigned  him,  with  more  majesty  than 
she  meant,  the  place  Parthenope  had  chosen  for  him. 
During  the  meal  her  condescension  wore  away  so  far 
that  by  the  time  Parthenope  was  making  coffee  with 
the  new  machine  which  the  Kelwyns  had  brought  with 
them,  and  stored  in  the  pantry  against  some  occasion 
of  experimenting  with  it,  the  hostess  had  reached  the 

66 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

level  with  her  guest  on  which  she  had  met  him  at  the 
Office. 

"  As  I  told  you,  Mr.  Emerance,  we  are  here  on  the 
most  provisional  terms ;  and  I  feel  like  explaining  that 
this  is  a — "  She  cast  about  for  a  descriptive  phrase, 
and  Parthenope,  from  peering  anxiously  into  the  per 
formance  of  the  coffee-machine,  supplied  it  without 
looking  up. 

"  Boughten  lunch."  She  spoke  lightly,  but  with  au 
thority,  as  one  who  dignifies  a  phrase  by  using  it. 

"  Yes,  and  certainly  I  can  say,  without  boasting, 
Mrs.  Kite  had  no  hand  in  it.  I  don't  wish  you  to 
think  I  did  her  injustice  in  what  I  said  this  morning 
at  the—" 

She  stopped  and  stared  hard  at  the  coffee-making, 
which  had  already  fixed  the  gaze  of  Kelwyn,  and  now 
also  held  the  eyes  of  the  guest. 

"  Oh,  don't  all  look  so !"  the  girl  protested,  turning 
a  flushed  face  toward  them. 

"  I  think  you  turn  it  over,"  Kelwyn  suggested. 

"  Blow  it  out,  my  dear,"  his  wife  commanded. 

"  Not  till  it  begins  to  pour  from  the  spout,"  the  guest 
interposed.  "  JXTow !"  he  bade  her,  and  the  fragrant 
stream  fell  smoking  into  the  cup  which  Parthenope, 
with  a  shriek,  had  interposed  in  time. 

If  she  obscurely  resented  his  peremptory  tone,  she 
hospitably  decided  to  say :  "  And  you  shall  have  the  first 
sprightly  runnings,  Mr.  Emerance,  for  truly  instructing 
me.  And,  Cousin  Carry,  the  next  time  you  have  a 
coffee-machine  that  you  haven't  tried  yourself,  don't  let 
me  try  it.  In  another  moment  I  should  have  been 
blown  through  the  roof." 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  the  young  man  said. 
"  They  always  look  as  if  they  would  explode,  but  I  be 
lieve  they  never  do." 

67 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

The  incident  relieved  the  tension  in  which  the  rneal 
had  passed.  The  Kelwyn  boys  had,  first  the  older  and 
then  the  younger,  asked  to  be  excused,  and  tottered  away 
in  a  repletion  which  would  be  proof  for  a  while  against 
the  lures  of  the  Kite  boy;  and  the  talk  began  to  ease 
itself  more  and  more  under  the  spell  of  the  little 
cups. 

"  You  spoke  as  if  from  a  wide  experience  of  coffee- 
machines/'  Kelwyn  said,  smiling  over  his  drink. 

"  I've  tried  most  of  them,"  the  guest  explained. 
"  You  can  make  good  coffee  or  bad  coffee  with  any 
of  them,  but  neither  so  good  nor  so  bad  as  you  can 
make  with  the  simple  old-fashioned  coffee-pot,  if  you 
have  the  art  of  it." 

"  I  should  say  Mrs.  Kite  hadn't  the  art,  though  she 
has  the  pot.  Better  recommend  the  machine  to  her, 
my  dear,"  Kelwyn  added  to  his  wife.  "  You  needn't 
tell  her  just  when  to  put  it  out,  unless  you  mind  it 
blowing  her  through  the  roof. .  I  shouldn't." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  usually  thought  this  sort  of  joking  from 
her  husband  rather  coarse,  but  she  herself  was  excited 
by  the  coffee  and  the  escape  to  it  from  imminent  danger, 
and  now  his  joke  did  not  seem  so  very  coarse  to  her. 

Kelwyn  turned  again  to  his  guest.  "  You  appear  to 
have  looked  into  the  metaphysics  of  coffee-making." 

"  Not  so  much  as  the  physics,  perhaps,"  the  young 
man  answered.  "  I  attended  a  cooking  -  school  last 
winter." 

The  two  women  leaned  forward,  and  Kelwyn  tem 
pered  the  common  curiosity  to  a  polite  "  Ah  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know,"  Emerance  continued,  "  but  I  might 
take  it  up." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand,"  Kelwyn  ventured,  with 
continued  politeness. 

"  My  digestion  had  given  way  in  teaching,  and  I 

68 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

suppose  that  was  what  directed  my  attention  to  tha 
matter.  I  had  a  notion  at  one  time  of  starting  a  sum 
mer  school  of  cooking." 

Mrs.  .Kelwyn  shrank  back  in  her  chair,  but  Par- 
thenope  leaned  farther  forward.  Kelwyn  joined  them 
in  their  silence,  and  the  young  man  addressed  him  more 
especially.  "  And  I  still  don't  see  why  it  shouldn't  fall 
in  with  some  of  the  modern  humors  of  our  civilization. 
People  are  going  more  and  more  into  the  country  and 
for  longer  seasons,  and  the  general  tendency  is  a  sort 
of  reversion  to  nature  in  the  way  of  camping  in  the  Ad- 
irondacks  and  the  Maine  woods,  away  from  the  hotels 
and  boarding-houses.  I  imagined  a  somewhat  larger 
group  of  families  than  ordinarily  camp  together,  who 
would  be  willing  to  form  a  school  of  cooking,  if  they 
could  get  teachers.  If  it  became  a  fad  first  it  might 
later  become  a  serious  study;  and  we  all  know  how 
much  knowledge  in  that  direction  is  needed." 

"  We  certainly  know  how  much  it  is  needed  in  this 
house,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  and  in  her  sense  of  injury 
through  the  ignorance  which  the  young  man's  notion 
might  have  helped  ultimately  to  abate,  even  in  such 
as  Mrs.  Kite,  she  relented  to  him  still  more. 

"  And  did  you  ever  make  an  experimental  test  of 
the  matter?"  Kelwyn  asked,  with  a  superior  smile,  at 
which  Parthenope  again  inclined  herself  a  little. 

"  !N"o,"  the  young  man  hesitated,  "  I  became  inter 
ested  in  something  else.  My  notion  was  not  to  let  the 
school  end  with  the  summer  people,  but  to  work  finally 
on  the  curiosity  of  the  farmers  and  their  wives.  They 
suffer  far  more  than  townsfolk  from  wholesome  food, 
badly  cooked.  The  science  of  cooking  interested  me; 
it's  a  kind  of  chemistry,  you  know."  He  concluded 
toward  Kelwyn,  who  nodded  tolerantly,  "  No,  I  never 
brought  the  teaching  to  a  practical  test  myself.  But, 

69 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

after  learning  how  to  cook,  I  couldn't  help  cooking  for 
myself." 

'"  Chafing-dish  ?"  Kelwyn  suggested. 

"  I  went  beyond  the  chafing-dish.  I  set  up  a  little 
gas-stove  in  a  room  that  I  got  next  my  study  in  the 
house  where  I  lodged,  and  instead  of  going  out  to  the 
meals  which  I  used  to  get  at  the  boarding-house  across 
the  street,  I  cooked  my  own  meals,  much  more  eco 
nomically,  and,  I  believed,  aesthetically." 

At  the  word  Parthenope  leaned  forward  at  the  first 
angle  of  interest,  and  he  said,  rather  more  to  her  than 
the  others :  "  It  isn't  all  fun.  At  least  it  wasn't  for 
me.  I  believe  ladies  don't  mind  washing  dishes — 

"  As  far  as  egg-shell  china,  we  don't/'  the  girl  dis 
tinguished. 

"  I  had  no  egg-shell  china,  and  I  minded  the  dish 
washing.  It  was  on  that  account  that  I  was  tempted 
to  give  up  cooking,  until  I  happened  to  think  of  wooden 
plates  and  paper  plates,  which  could  be  cleansed  by 
fi.re  instead  of  water." 

"  But  they,"  Parthenope  instructed  him,  "  want  the 
woods  and  fields  for  a  background;  between  walls  they 
are  hideous." 

"  They  are  not  finally  hideous,"  Emerance  an 
swered,  with  the  deference  that  young  men  show  in 
differing  with  girls,  but  not  with  all  the  submission  she 
would  have  liked.  "  Their  form  is  elementary  yet,  but 
that  is  something  that  might  be  studied,  and  their 
decoration  might  be  carried  much  further  than  it  has 
been." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  assented,  and  then  she  suggested 
a  step  she  believed  he  had  missed.  "  But  there  would 
still  be  the  pots  and  pans." 

"  I  didn't  know  she  had  such  a  practical  mind," 
Kelwyn  said,  jocosely,  to  his  wife. 

70 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Of  course  a  woman  would  think  of  that,"  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  explained. 

"  There  would  still  be  the  pots  and  pans,"  the  young 
man  owned.  "  You  can't  boil  and  stew  in  wood,  and 
you  can't  roast  and  broil  on  paper.  But  I've  no  doubt 
something  could  be  cheaply  substituted  for  wood  and 
paper  that  could  be  as  easily  destroyed.  Perhaps — " 

Loud  shrieks,  as  of  a  joyful  dismay,  rose  from  the 
roadside  green  under  the  dining-room  windows:  the 
voices  of  the  two  Kelwyn  boys,  and  the  voice  of  the 
Kite  boy,  who  lifted  it  in  a  kind  of  mocking,  as  if  at 
a  mixed  emotion  in  the  others.  To  these  the  voice  of 
Mrs.  Kite  was  joined.  "  You  come  here,  Arthur  Kite ; 
come  right  here,  this  minute!  Boys,  you  look  out  he 
don't  catch  you !  Mrs.  Kelwyn !" 

At  this  appeal  Mrs.  Kelwyn  called  severely  to  her 
husband  across  the  table,  "  Elmer !"  and  then  they 
both  went  to  a  window.  Parthenope  ran  to  another, 
where,  seeing  that  Emerance  modestly  held  back,  she 
made  room  for  him.  Leaning  over  the  sill  together, 
they  saw  slouching  toward  the  house  the  figure  of  a 
man  in  a  flat  cap,  a  short  velvet  jacket,  and  immensely 
wide  velvet  trousers,  with  shoes  as  broad  almost  and 
as  flat  as  his  cap;  he  supported  his  steps  with  a  heavy 
staff  and  led  by  a  chain  a  bear  of  about  his  own  stature. 
The  chain  was  attached  to  a  ring  in  the  bear's  muzzled 
nose,  and  Emerance  glanced  for  a  moment  from  him 
at  the  pretty  head  beside  him,  as  if  involuntarily  noting 
that  the  hair  on  it  was  of  the  same  cinnamon"  color  as 
the  bear.  He  breathed  a  little  sigh  such  as  one  gives 
when  one  has  suddenly  got  the  right  word  for  some 
thing. 

The  man  and  the  bear  both  looked  hot  and  unhappy. 
The  bear  strained  his  small  eyes  round  and  upward, 
and  the  man  let  his  glance  follow,  but  neither  made 

71 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

as  if  to  stop,  and  the  Kelwyns,  who  had  called  their 
children  up  to  them,  began  to  feel  that  they  had  been 
needlessly  anxious ;  the  boys  begged  their  father  to  make 
the  man  stay.  While  Kelwyn  hesitated,  the  hired  man, 
Eaney,  came  round  the  corner  of  the  house  and  called  to 
the  bear-leader  in  French.  The  poor  are  too  much  pre 
occupied  with  their  poverty  to  be  surprised  at  things 
which  give  the  well-to-do  the  pleasurable  emotion  of 
the  unexpected,  and  the  man  merely  looked  round  at 
the  sound  of  the  familiar  words.  Then,  as  if  he  uttered 
the  general  wish,  Raney  called  to  him  again  and  bade 
him  make  the  bear  dance. 

It  seemed  a  great  cruelty,  for  the  heat  had  been  grad 
ually  mounting  ever  since  morning,  but  Kelwyn  did  not 
interfere,  even  at  his  wife's  urgence  of  the  question  of 
danger;  he  let  the  man,  who  had  halted,  slowly  turn 
and  come  back.  The  bear,  with  a  groan  of  compliance, 
rose  to  his  hind  legs  and  caught  between  his  paws  the 
staff  which  the  man  tossed  him.  But  it  seemed  that  he 
was  not  going  to  dance  at  once.  lie  had  histrionic 
gifts  which  were  to  be  shown  first  in  Le  bon  Filleul 
qui  va  la  Chasse,  and  the  staff  was  to  play  the  part  of 
a  gun.  At  the  successive  stage  directions  of  his  leader 
he  discovered  the  game,  shouldered  the  gun,  and  fired. 
But  apparently  he  always  missed  at  first ;  at  last  when 
he  hit,  he  was  obliged  to  represent  the  victim  himself. 
As  Un  beau  Mort,  he  rolled  in  death,  palpitant  and 
stertorous;  then  he  came  to  life,  and  rose  to  his  hind 
legs  and  tilled  the  ground  with  his  pole  in  the  character 
of  Le  bon  Jardinier.  The  dramatic  passages  of  the 
entertainment  now  ended,  and  the  ballet  began.  It  was 
not  intricate,  but  it  was  elaborate,  and  was  faithfully 
performed  to  the  music  of  the  wild,  brutal  chant  of 
which  bear-leaders  have  the  secret.  The  bear  pranced 

and  waddled,  and  snorted  and  panted  through  his  muz- 

72 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

zle  while  the  man  followed  him  up  and  retreated.  The 
scene  held  the  spectators  spellbound  till  Parthenope  put 
herself  in  the  bear's  place  and  cried  out,  "  I  should 
think  the  poor  thing  would  die  of  the  heat !" 

Mrs.  Keljwn  saw  the  reasonableness  of  the  appre 
hension,  and  with  Raney's  intervention  she  brought  the 
ballet  to  a  close.  The  boys  were  openly  disappointed; 
but  the  bear  was  made  to  turn  some  lop-sided  somer 
saults,  which  consoled  them,  and  then  the  bear-leader 
called  for  some  water,  and  Mrs.  Kite  brought  it  in  a 
hand-basin,  which  the  bear  lay  down  to  embrace  with 
both  paws,  plunging  his  muzzle  deep  into  the  water 
and  showing  a  joy  pitiful  to  see.  When  he  had  sopped 
it  all  up  the  man  asked  for  another  basinful,  and 
swashed  it  against  the  hairy  breast  of  the  bear  which 
responded  with  grunts  of  rapture.  He  was  so  much 
refreshed  that  when  the  man  lengthened  his  chain  he 
climbed  to  the  first  crotch  of  the  doorside  elm,  where 
he  sat  looking  sleepily  into  the  window  to  which  the 
Kelwyn  boys,  with  the  unforbidden,  if  unbidden,  com 
pany  of  the  Kite  boy,  had  rushed  up-stairs  to  gloat 
upon  him  in  the  closest  intimacy. 

The  bear-leader  was  himself  a  sight  hardly  less  piti 
able  than  the  bear.  He  stood  pallid  and  dripping  with 
sweat;  and  with  that  dull,  tormented  air  which  seems 
proper  to  bear-leaders  he  told  Ilaney  the  scant  story  of 
himself  and  his  bear.  He  had  himself  taken  the  bear 
in  the  mountains  near  Toulouse;  it  was  only  fifteen 
months  old  now,  and  it  was  a  little  cub  when  he  took 
it.  He  pulled  on  its  chain;  it  reluctantly  descended 
from  its  perch,  and  the  two  set  off,  equally  inarticulate, 
after  the  man's  growled  thanks  for  the  reward  which 
had  been  thrown  him  from  the  windows  whither  he 
scarcely  lifted  his  eyes.  Mrs.  Kite  and  Raney  stood 
watching  him,  and  Eaney  said  to  the  windows  that  he 

73 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYN6 

would  rather  work  than  do  that ;  he  added  that  he  was 
going  away  to  work  for  his  board  and  two  dollars  and  a 
half  a  day  in  Chester.  He  sauntered  off  toward  the 
barn,  and  Mrs.  Kite  supplied  for  him  the  fact  which 
Raney  was  perhaps  too  indifferent,  or  too  proud,  to  de 
clare  himself :  that  his  father  lived  in  Nashua,  where  he 
owned  a  house  of  eight  tenements,  which  he  let  for  fifty 
dollars  a  month ;  there  were  a  good  many  Kanucks  liv 
ing  in  Nashua.  She  then  went  indoors,  and  the  others, 
who  were  still  looking,  as  if  helplessly,  out  of  the  win 
dow,  were  surprised  by  a  sudden  roar  of  thunder. 


"  WHY,  I  believe  we're  going  to  have  a  storm !"  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  said.  They  all  took  their  heads  in  appre 
hensively,  but  the  two  women  put  theirs  out  again 
curiously  and  made  sure  of  the  clouds  which  were  beat 
ing  up  from  the  horizon  and  getting  blacker  and  blacker 
below,  while  above  they  whitened  densely  toward  tho 
zenith.  "  Elmer,"  she  continued  to  her  husband,  "  did 
you  think  it  was  gathering  for  a  storm  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  hadn't  noticed,"  he  answered. 

Parthenope  said,  with  an  inquiring  glance  at  Emer- 
ance,  "  Pm  sure  I  hadn't,  either." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  thunder  once  before,"  the  young 
man  answered  her.  "  But  I  was  so  much  absorbed  in 
the  show  that  I  didn't  think  of  getting  back  to  the 
Shakers'.  Now  I  must  make  a  run  for  it.  Good-bye — 
good-bye !"  He  addressed  himself  to  one  after  another 
and  started  for  the  door.  "  I  think  I  left  my  hat  be 
low—" 

"Why,"  Kelwyn  as  host  interposed,  "you  mustn't 
think  of  going  now  till  the  rain's  over." 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  less  hos 
pitably,  but  more  finally. 

Emerance  urged,  with  another  glance  out  of  the  win 
dow  :  "  I'm  afraid  I  must.  I'm  ashamed  to  have  in 
truded  on  you  so  long." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  rose  to  the  occasion.    "  Not  at  all.    I'm 
always  so  afraid  of  lightning." 
6  75 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  should  be  much  protection ; 
but —  He  glanced  at  the  sky  again. 

"  I  wonder/'  Parthenope  said,  impartially,  "  why  we 
always  feel  safer  if  there  are  others." 

"  I  suppose  it's  really  not  so  safe,"  Emerance  sug 
gested. 

She  combated  this  from  her  experience.  "  My  aunt 
and  I  always  get  together  in  the  middle  hall,  where 
there's  no  chimney,  and  she  makes  the  servants  come, 
too,  and  shuts  all  the  doors  and  lights  the  gas;  and 
then  we  scarcely  notice  it." 

"  It  will  be  well  to  close  the  windows,  won't  it  ?" 
Kelywn  asked,  referring  himself  to  the  young  man. 
The  sky  had  blackened  upward ;  the  flashes  were  almost 
incessant ;  the  wind  came  in  rapid  gusts,  as  if  the  storm 
were  panting  in  from  the  outside.  The  room  dark 
ened. 

The  men  moved  each  toward  a  window;  a  blind 
ing  glare  came  with  an  instant  crash;  Mrs.  Kel- 
wyn  shrieked :  "  You'll  be  killed !  Shut  them,  shut 
them!" 

They  dashed  the  sashes  down  as  a  torrent  of  rain 
beat  against  the  glass.  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  instincts  put 
her  in  control.  "  Elmer !  Come  here  away  from  the 
window!  Mr.  Emerance!  Boys,  stand  back  to  the 
wall ;  but  not  against  it,  not  tight  together !  Thennie — 
Arthur  Kite,  why  aren't  you  with  your  mother?  But 
mercy!  Mrs.  Kite  will  be  killed  down  there  over  the 
cook-stove — iron  is  such  a  conductor.  Mrs.  Kite !  Mrs. 
Kite!"  She  ventured  to  the  door  and  shrieked  toward 
the  kitchen.  "  Come  here  with  us !  You'll  be  struck 
by  lightning !" 

"  I  ain't  afraid  of  lightnin',"  Mrs.  Kite's  voice  came 
sweetly  back.  "  Me  and  Raney  are  watchin'  it.  I  hope 

Mr.  Kite's  got  under  some  tree  with  his  hossis." 

76 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Shut  your  door  and  come  up  here,"  Mrs.  Kel- 
wyn  commanded,  but  there  was  no  answer  to  this,  and 
the  interest  of  Mrs.  Kite's  disobedience  was  lost  in 
the  tremendous  drama  of  the  elements.  The  world 
was  wrapt  in  a  darkness  which  the  swift  flashes 
rent  from  it,  moment  after  moment,  and  showed  it 
naked,  dishevelled  with  the  wind  and  deluged  with 
rain. 

"  This  is  a  storm,"  Kelwyn  remarked,  inadequately, 
and  his  wife  said : 

"  I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  Did  you,  Mr.  Emer- 
ance  ?"  She  felt  the  need  of  hearing  some  voice  besides 
her  own  amid  the  horror,  and  she  appealed  to  her  guest 
at  the  risk  of  making  him  feel  more  at  home  than  she 
might  have  wished.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  storm 
she  would  have  liked  to  ask  herself  some  questions 
about  him.  But  she  did  not  wait  for  his  answer  be 
fore  calling  to  her  cousin,  "  Where  are  you,  Par- 
thenope  ?" 

"  Here,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,"  the  girl  answered. 
"  Eight  by  you." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn,  who  had  somehow  thought  she  was 
with  Emerance  dangerously  near  the  window,  where  he 
stood,  said,  with  relief,  "  Oh !"  At  the  sarnie  time  a 
formless  shout  came  from  Emerance,  and  the  next  flash 
showed  him  pointing  at  something  he  saw  through  the 
window.  She  was  torn  between  anxiety  and  curiosity. 
"What  is  it?  What  is  it?"  she  implored.  "Elmer! 
Parthenope  I  Why—" 

It  was  the  girl  who  obeyed  the  stronger  instinct,  and, 
running  to  the  window,  saw,  through  the  shimmer  of 
the  lightning  and  the  wind-driven  welter  of  the  rain, 
the  figures  of  the  bear-leader  and  the  bear  floundering 
toward  the  barn  where  it  stretched  in  a  line  with  the 
house  toward  the  woods. 

77 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"What  is  it?  What  is  it?"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  de 
manded. 

Before  Parthenope  could  answer,  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Kite  came :  "  Raney,  go  out  and  tell  him  he  can't  go 
into  our  barn !  His  bear  ?11  drive  the  hossis  crazy." 

"  Ketch  me  go  out  in  that  rain,"  Raney's  voice  re 
plied.  "  No  hosses  there,  anyway,  till  Mr.  Kite  come 
back." 

"  Well,  that's  so,"  Mrs.  Kite  assented,  in  a  lapse  to 
her  habitual  ease  of  mind.  "  But  we  got  to  watch  out 
when  he  does  come.  U-u-ugh!" 

A  long  chain  of  flame  swung  from  the  woods  beyond 
the  open  fields  across  the  road,  and  from  its  hither  end 
a  vast  globe  of  bluish  fire  dropped  as  if  at  the  door, 
and  the  air  was  torn  with  an  explosion  which  shook 
the  house  in  every  fibre;  through  the  darkness  and  si 
lence  which  followed,  little  crimson  flakes  like  pieces  of 
burning  paper  dropped  earthward.  A  groan  came  from 
Mrs.  Kelwyn ;  wails  came  from  the  boys ;  the  hysterical 
laughter  of  Mrs.  Kite,  the  shouts  of  Raney  and  Arthur, 
mixed  with  a  cry  from  Parthenope.  With  her  thought 
still  on  what  she  had  last  seen  before  that  blinding 
flash  and  deafening  roar,  she  entreated  Emerance,  "  Oh, 
where  are  they,  where  are  they?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  Yes !  Yes !  There 
they  are  in  the  road — " 

"  They've  been  killed !"  she  shrieked.  "  They're  both 
lying  down !  Oh,  Cousin  Carry,  Cousin  Elmer !"  She 
put  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and,  with  her  whirling 
toward  them,  the  Kelwyn s  pressed  forward,  forget 
ful  of  danger  and  duty,  and  by  the  successive  flashes 
they  saw  in  the  streaming  highway  the  bear  and  his 
leader  prostrate  and  motionless. 

"  I    don't   believe   they're    dead,"    Emerance    said. 

"  I'm  going  to  see — " 

78 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  I'm  going  with  you/'  Parthenope  defied  all  for 
bidding. 

They  had  run  toward  the  door,  followed  by  a  cry 
of  cumulative  warning  from  Mrs.  Kelwyn. 

"  You'll  be  killed— you'll  be  wet  through." 

But  the  rain,  in  one  of  those  sudden  arrests 
which  ensue  upon  such  a  violent  burst,  had  ceased, 
and  there  was  only  the  drip  of  the  elms  which  over 
hung  the  road,  where  the  play  of  the  lightning  now 
showed  Emerance  and  Parthenope  bringing  help  to  the 
bear  and  his  leader.  Eaney  had  joined  them ;  but  Mrs. 
Kite  kept  within  her  door,  as  firmly  persuaded  as  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  that  her  first  duty  was  to  herself.  She  could 
not  keep  her  boy  from  running  out  to  see  the  rescue, 
and  in  this  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had  the  advantage;  her  boys 
preferred  to  look  on  with  her  from  her  window.  Kel 
wyn  said  he  was  going  to  help,  too,  but  his  wife's  will 
was  stronger. 

"Don't  think  of  such  a  thing.  You  know  they 
are  doing  everything,  and  if  you  go  out  into  this 
storm  you  will  die — you  will  be  laid  up  with  rheu 
matism." 

He  pointed  out  that  it  was  not  raining  and  there 
was  not  the  least  risk;  in  the  end  he  had  to  content 
himself  with  thinking  that  perhaps  she  was  right, 
after  all. 

Parthenope  came  hurrying  in.  "  He's  breathing," 
she  panted,  thickly.  "  Mr.  Emerance  wants  some 
brandy.  Have  you  got  any  ?" 

"Now,  Elmer!"  Mrs.  Kelywn  said,  disappearing 
and  reappearing  at  her  chamber  door.  "  What  will  you 
say  now  to  my  bringing  what  was  left  in  the  bottle  you 
wanted  me  to  throw  away  ?" 

"  Is  the  bear  breathing,  too ,  Cousin  Thennie  ?" 
Francy  wistfully  entreated,  and  Carl,  with  the  same 

79 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

gentleness,  implored,  "  Is  the  bear  breathing,  too, 
Cousin  Thennie?" 

"  Yes,  yes !"  she  called  back  over  her  shoulder  to 
them  as  she  ran  out  with  the  brandy.  "  That  is — ' 

"  I'm  so  glad  the  bear's  breathing,  too,  mamma," 
and,  "  I'm  so  glad  the  bear's  breathing,  too,  mamma," 
the  boys  said,  in  the  order  of  their  ages. 

Their  mother  twitched  each  of  them  by  the  hand. 
"Hush!  Be  good  boys!" 

"  Can't  we  go  out  2"  they  asked,  in  due  succession. 
"  Arthur's  there." 

"  Certainly  not.    It  might  kill  you." 

"  If  the  bear's  alive  he  ought  to  be  secured,"  Kelwyn 
said,  judicially. 

"  Well,  don't  you  try  to  secure  him,"  his  wife  ex 
posed  him  in  his  brave  impulse.  "  There !  Raney  is 
chaining  him  to  the  hitching-post  now!" 

Raney  was  really  taking  this  provisional  measure  of 
safety;  but  the  bear  to  the  spectators  above  showed  no 
more  signs  of  returning  consciousness  than  his  leader, 
who  sat  in  the  mud  with  his  head  fallen  forward  and 
supported  under  his  limply  hanging  arms  by  Par- 
thenope;  while  Emerance  knelt  before  him,  trying  to 
make  him  drink  the  brandy.  In  despair  with  his  fail 
ure  he  cast  his  eye  upward  and  Kelwyn  caught  their 
reproach. 

"  I  am  certainly  going  down  to  help,"  Kelwyn  was 
afterward  always  proud  to  remember  now  saying,  and 
before  his  wife  could  prevent  him  he  ran  down-stairs 
and  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  Emerance.  Between 
them  they  managed  to  get  the  man's  mouth  open  and 
let  a  little  brandy  trickle  into  it.  Then  the  bear-leader 
gropingly  possessed  himself  of  the  bottle  and  tilted 
it  to  his  lips.  A  strong  shiver  ran  through  his  frame, 
and  Parthenope  divined  that  she  might  withdraw  her 

80 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

support.  Kelwyn,  having  fulfilled  his  duty  to  hu 
manity,  returned  to  his  family,  and  the  bear-leader's 
first  thought  was  of  his  own. 

"  Ou  est-ce  quest  I' ours?"  he  growled,  and  Raney 
vaingloriously  exhibited  his  passive  capture. 


XI 


THE  man  dragged  himself  painfully  toward  the 
prostrate  beast,  and  examined  him  for  the  signs  of 
life  with  hoarsely  murmured  laments.  He  put  the 
brandy  to  the  bear's  muzzle  without  effect;  then  he 
sank  on  his  heels  and  growled  to  Raney,  in  their  lan 
guage,  "  If  there  were  some  coffee  very  hot!" 

Parthenope  understood,  and  she  shouted  up  to  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  at  the  window,  "  Light  the  spirit-lamp  under 
the  coffee-pot !"  The  zeal  of  saving  life  had  penetrated 
to  Mrs.  Kelwyn  also,  and  she  obeyed  the  order  blindly. 
When  Parthenope  came  following  her  mandate  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  was  indignant  that  her  succor  should  have  been 
invoked  for  the  bear ;  but  it  was  now  too  late.  The 
girl  caught  the  pot  from  the  flame,  and,  pouring  all 
the  coffee  out  into  a  bowl,  hurried  below  with  it. 

The  man  slipped  the  muzzle  from  the  bear  and  pried 
the  beast's  jaws  apart. 

"  Better  let  me  give  it  him,"  Emerance  suggested, 
offering  to  take  the  bowl  from  Parthenope.  It  was  an 
odd  moment  for  her  superiority  to  assert  itself,  but  this 
was  the  moment  it  chose. 

"  If  you  will  help  keep  the  bear's  mouth  open,"  she 
said,  severely,  "  I  will  pour  the  coffee  in,"  and  she 
emptied  the  bowl  into  the  red  chasm,  which  suddenly 
shut  like  a  trap.  She  caught  her  hand  away  with  a 
little  whoop. 

"  Oh,  did  he  snap  you  ?"  the  young  man  asked, 
anxiously. 

82 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"Not  at  all/'  she  snubbed  his  anxiety.  "Don't 
notice  it." 

No  one  else  seemed  to  have  noticed  it,  and  the  bear 
leader  slipped  back  the  muzzle  and,  still  kneeling  be 
side  the  bear,  waited  results.  The  coffee  wrought  the 
miracle  which  the  brandy  had  failed  to  work;  the  bear 
came  to  with  a  strong  shudder,  and  rose  to  his  hind 
legs  with  a  heart-shaking  roar  which  sent  his  deliverers 
flying.  A  crash  of  thunder  followed,  and  the  storm 
began  again.  Of  the  actors  in  the  recent  drama  none 
remained  on  the  scene  but  the  bear  and  his  leader. 
They  began  making  for  the  barn  again,  and  Mrs.  Kite 
screamed :  "  Raney,  tell  him  he  mustn't  go  to  the  barn ! 
If  Mr.  Kite  comes  home  and  finds  that  bear  in  the  barn 
he'll  shoot  him !" 

"He  got  to  go  somewhere,"  Raney  protested,  sul 
lenly. 

"  Take  them  to  the  woodhouse,  then." 

After  a  hesitation  of  self-respect,  Raney  led  the  way 
with  a  "  Suivez-moi." 

On  the  stairs  the  girl  stopped  and  looked  at  her 
hand,  and  Emerance  asked  again,  "  Did  he  hurt  you  ?" 

This  time  she  answered,  more  gently,  "  Oh  no,"  and 
she  laughed.  "  I  would  do  it,  you  know.  I  was  mere 
ly  frightened  by  his  jaws  shutting  so.  But  it  was  only 
mechanical." 

•'"  Oh  yes ;  he  didn't  mean  to  bite,"  Emerance  said ; 
and  when  they  went  in  to  the  Kelwyns  she  made  haste 
to  declare: 

"  I  insisted  on  giving  '  first  aid '  to  the  bear  myself, 
and  I  thought  he  had  bitten  me.  But  he  only  shut  his 
mouth  mechanically."  The  word  seemed  to  repeat  it 
self  mechanically,  and  she  laughed  as  she  had  laughed 
before.  Then,  rather  white  and  tremulous,  she  hurried 
away  toward  her  room. 

83 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

•Mrs.  Kelwyn  ran  after  her,  and  did  not  come  back 
at  once.  When  she  returned  the  electrical  storm  was 
passing ;  but  the  weather  had  settled  for  a  steady  down 
pour,  and  she  said :  "  Of  course,  Mr.  Emerance,  you 
won't  dream  of  trying  to  get  to  the  Shakers'  till  it 
stops.  You  must  stay  and  take  supper  with  us,  if  we 
have  any.  Mrs.  Kite  is  so  uncertain — " 

"  And  it's  been  a  very  demoralizing  afternoon  for 
everybody,"  Kelwyn  continued  for  her.  "  But  I  dare 
say  Mrs.  Kite  will  pull  herself  together  in  time." 

The  young  man  said,  "  I  hate  to  trouble  you,"  and 
then  he  ventured,  after  a  moment,  "  If  Mrs.  Kite  is 
very  much  preoccupied,  do  you  think  she  would  mind 
my  trying  a  few  tricks  with  her  cook-stove  ?"  To  Mrs. 
Kelwyn's  look  of  uncertainty  he  added,  "  Then  I  could 
feel  as  if  I  were  earning  my  board.  I  should  like  to 
get  supper  for  you,"  he  ended,  explicitly. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  was  seldom  at  a  loss  for  a  decision,  but 
now  she  cast  glances  of  misgiving  at  her  husband.  He 
refused  the  responsibility,  but  her  boys  asked  in 
chorus,  "  May  we  help  him  to  get  supper,  mamma  ?" 

Emerance  had  not  waited.  The  boys  had  followed 
him  into  the  kitchen,  where  the  Kelwyns  presently 
heard  him  in  amicable  colloquy  with  Mrs.  Kite.  A 
third  voice  joined  itself  to  theirs,  and  Kelwyn  said, 
"  Why,  is  that  Parthenope  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say !"  his  wife  answered,  impatiently. 
"  She  seemed  quite  unnerved,  and  I  made  her  lie  down. 
But  I  knew  she  would  be  up  as  soon  as  I  left  her.  I 
suppose  she  went  down  the  back  way." 

"  Well,  she  wasn't  very  seriously  wounded,"  Kelwyn 
consoled  himself.  "  And  we  couldn't  have  allowed  him 
to  get  our  supper  without  letting  some  one  help 
him> 

"  No,"  she  consented.  "  Of  course  it's  better  for 

84 


THE  VACATION  OP  THE  KELWYNS 

Thennie  to  offer.  But  it's  rather  odd.  I  can't  make 
him  out.  He  seems  to  have  been  too  many  things — 
what  I  call  a  Jack  of  all  trades." 

"  In  this  case  if  he's  master  of  one,"  Kelwyn  said, 
"  I  shall  forgive  him.  I  think  I'm  going  to  be  hungry. 
It's  turning  cold,  I  fancy,  or  else  the  damp  has  got  in. 
I  believe  I'll  make  up  a  trash-wood  fire  on  the  hearth 
and  dry  the  place  out." 

He  went  for  an  armful  of  pine  sticks,  and  when  he 
came  back  Mrs.  Kelwyn  was  returning  from  the  kitchen. 
"  I  thought  I  ought  to  look  in  to  show  that  I  appre 
ciated—  But  I  didn't  stay;  Thennie  might  think  1 
was  following  her  up.  I  don't  know  that  I  liked 
his  being  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  To  be  sure,  with  those 
woollen  outing  shirts  that  the  young  men  are  beginning 
to  wear!  And  he's  given  the  boys  some  dough,  and 
they're  as  happy  as  kings.  And  Parthenope  seems  to 
be  useful  in  spite  of  her  scare.  I  think  she's  rather 
ashamed  of  her  whole  performance." 

Kelwyn  had  laid  his  fire  and  was  going  to  touch  a 
match  to  it  when  her  attention  was  directed  to  it,  and 
she  wished  to  lay  it  differently.  In  the  lulls  of  their 
dispute  they  heard  Mrs.  Kite  in  the  kitchen  from  time 
to  time : 

"  There !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  that's  what 
they're  for?  Well,  I  heard  of  gem-pans  fast  enough 
from  the  Shaker  ladies,  but  I  didn't  think  these  were 
them.  And  will  they  raise  just  from  the  heat  ?  Arthur, 
you  keep  your  hands  off,  or  I'll—  Goin'  to  broil  it  ? 
We  always  fry  ours;  I  don't  suppose  I  could  get  a  bit 
of  broiled  steak  down  Mr.  Kite  any  more  than —  That 
the  way  you  make  an  omelet?  I've  heard  of  'em, 
but  I  never  expected  to  see  one.  And  you  don't  let  the 
tea  stay  a  minute?  And  you  got  to  have  fresh  boiled 
water  every  time  ?  Well,  no  wonder  I  couldn't  seem  to 

85 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

suit  your  folks.  You  mind  my  settin'  here  ?  If  you  do, 
just  say  the  word,  and  I'll — " 

Her  talk  came  with  the  sounds  of  walking  to  and 
fro,  with  serious  answers  from  Emerance  and  gay 
comments  from  Parthenope,  with  shrill,  despairing  re 
sentments  of  the  Kite  boy's  aggressions  from  the  Kel- 
wyn  boys,  the  clash  of  stove-doors  and  stove-lids,  and 
the  hiss  of  broiling. 

Kelwyn  thought  that  he  ought  to  show  himself  on  the 
scene  in  his  quality  of  a  host  courteous  to  his  guest. 
But  as  often  as  he  proposed  this  his  wife  forbade  him 
on  one  pretext  or  another.  At  last  she  said :  "  Elmer, 
don't  say  that  again!  I  wouldn't  have  Parthenope 
think  we  noticed !" 

Then  he  said,  "  Oh !"  A  moment  later  the  kitchen 
door  was  set  officiously  open  by  Mrs.  Kite,  and  a  pro 
cession  of  Parthenope  and  the  Kelwyn  boys  came  in 
bearing  the  firstlings  of  the  feast ;  against  a  glare  from 
the  stove  the  figure  of  Emerance  was  silhouetted  in  the 
act  of  lifting  the  broiler  from  the  clinging  flames  of 
the  fat,  and  then  he  reappeared  with  his  coat  on,  and 
between  his  hands  the  platter  holding  the  beefsteak 
saved  from  the  morning's  purchase,  and  now  serving  as 
the  chief  dish  at  a  meal  that  almost  rose  to  the  dignity 
of  dinner. 

Mrs.  Kite  followed  with  a  heaping  plate  of  gems. 
"  You've  got  to  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  if  I  almost 
forgot  your  supper.  But  I  guess  you  won't  miss  any 
thing.  I've  been  so  anxious  about  'him,  out  in  all  this 
rain,  and  I  want  you  should  save  him  a  bite  of  every 
thing,  so  he  can  see  what  gems  and  omelet  are  like  for 
once  in  his  life." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  added  some  graces  of  jam  and  mar 
malade,  and  olives  from  the  store  she  had  brought  into 
the  country  for  occasions  of  feasting,  and  at  the  end 

86 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

of  a  meal  from  which  her  boys  dropped  torpid  to  their 
bed,  their  father  philosophized  the  effect  with  himself 
as  one  of  returning  self-respect.  His  wife  and  her 
cousin  were  carrying  the  remnants  out  to  Mrs.  Kite 
in  the  kitchen,  forbidding  help  from  the  men  whom 
they  left  sitting  each  at  a  corner  of  the  hearth. 

"  It  is  odd/'  Kelwyn  explained,  "  but  it  is  true  that 
under  the  regimen  of  Mrs.  Kite  I've  had  the  sense  of 
sinking  lower  and  lower  in  my  own  opinion.  I  haven't 
been  able  to  recognize  myself  as  a  gentleman.  You 
understand  ?" 

"  I  get  your  drift,"  the  younger  man  said,  with  a 
smile  of  interest  which  brightened  into  speculation.  "  I 
wonder  how  much  of  what  we  call  our  personal  dignity 
is  really  impersonal." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  How  much  is  safeguarded  from  without,  how  much 
from  within  ?  Whether  we  are  still  in  the  bondage  of 
the  old  superstition  that  the  things  which  defile  a  man 
are  those  which  happen  to  him  rather  than  those  which 
happen  from  him  ?" 

It  would  not  do  for  a  lecturer  on  historical  sociology 
to  seem  to  himself  at  a  loss  on  a  point  like  that, 
and  Kelwyn  asked,  in  his  turn,  "Hasn't  it  always 
been  so  ?" 

"  Yes ;  or  else  I  suppose  we  shouldn't  have  been  in 
structed  against  it.  As  yet  I  don't  believe  there's  much 
personal  dignity  in  the  world.  It's  impersonal,  what 
there  is  of  it.  Why,  for  instance,"  he  pursued,  "  should 
you  have  felt  degraded  by  the  bad  housekeeping  of  this 
woman,  and  especially  her  bad  cooking?  Or  wasn't  it 
that,  concretely,  that  you  meant  ?" 

Kelwyn  reflected,  and  he  owned  from  his  conscience : 
"  Yes,  I  fancy  that's  just  what  I  meant.  And  in  the 
light  you  put  it  in  it  is  rather  droll.  There  seems  to 

87 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Have  been  some  force  in  the  environment  that  vul 
garized — that  surrounded  me  with  the  social  atmos 
phere  of  a  mechanics'  boarding-house.  There  have  been 
times  when  I  rose  from  Mrs.  Kite's  table — I  can't  call 
it  ours — with  the  feeling  that  I  was  not  fit  for  society 
— that  I  ought  to  resign  my  position  in  the  university." 

He  exaggerated,  smiling  and  inviting  Emerance  to 
smile;  but  the  young  man  smiled  only  indirectly,  and 
he  said,  with  apparent  irrelevance,  "  I  have  heard  a  few 
of  your  lectures." 

This  was  something  still  further  restorative ;  Kelwyn 
felt  that  he  was  getting  securely  back  to  his  level. 
"  Ah !"  he  prompted,  hoping  for  praise,  but  decently 
wishing  that  he  did  not. 

"  Yes,"  the  young  man  responded,  "  I  have  been  in 
terested  in  the  subject."  He  dismissed  that  aspect  of  it. 
"  But  I  don't  think  environment  is  quite  the  name  for 
the  thing.  If  you  put  people  who  are  used  to  simpler 
things  than  yourself  in  your  place  here,  would  they 
be  humiliated  by  the  environment  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  they  would,  if  they  were  people  of 
any  refinement  at  all,"  Kelwyn  had  a  sense  of  generous 
democracy  in  urging. 

"  They  might  be  people  of  another  kind  of  refine 
ment.  They  might  not  feel  the  woman's  shiftlessness 
as  much  as  you,  and  yet  be  grieved  for  her  by  it." 

"  I  believe,"  Kelwyn  said,  "  we  have  always  tried  to 
consider  her." 

"  I've  expressed  myself  badly  if  I've  suggested  other 
wise,"  the  young  man  returned,  with  gravity.  "  I'm  try 
ing  to  imagine  the  sort  of  religious — it  isn't  the  word — 
spiritual  culture  which  seems  to  have  pretty  well  gone 
out  of  the  world,  if  it  was  ever  much  in  it,  and  which 
once  considered  the  uncultivated  on  their  own  ground 
and  not  on  that  of  their  superiors.  I'm  not  sure — yet 

88 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

— that  this  sort  of  culture  didn't  implicate  a  certain 
amount  of  sentimentality.  I  should  like  to  ask  your 
opinion." 

"  Yes,"  Kelwyn  said,  after  taking  a  moment  for 
thought,  "  I  should  think  it  did.  And  I  suppose 
we  should  agree  that  sentimentality  is  always  to  be 
avoided." 

"  Why,  I'm  not  sure — yet,"  the  young  man  surprised 
him  by  answering. 

"  Then  I  don't  know  that  I  follow  you." 

"  I  suppose  what  I  am  driving  at  is  this — or  some 
thing  like  this :  as  long  as  we  are  in  the  keeping  of  our 
customary  circumstances,  the  thing  which  we  call  en 
vironment  and  by  which  we  always  understand  the 
personal  environment,  whether  we  recognize  the  fact  or 
not,  has  very  little  influence  on  our  character.  If  you 
had  had  these  people  serving  you  in  your  house  at  home 
you  would  not  have  felt  degraded  by  the  manner  or 
make  of  their  service? — For  that's  what  it  comes  to 
here." 

"  No,  I  suppose  we  shouldn't.  That  is —  I  should 
like  to  give  the  point  further  reflection." 

"  The  personal  environment  would  be  the  same  in 
both  cases.  But  in  one  case  you  could  keep  your  own 
level  in  spite  of  it,  and  in  the  other  case  you  feel  de 
graded  by  it.  So  the  real  agency  would  be  in  the  cir 
cumstances,  wouldn't  it  ?  The  conditions  ?" 

"  It's  an  interesting  point,"  Kelwyn  allowed. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  put  it  in  another  way,"  Emerance 
resumed.  "  If  we  had  all  been  at  a  picnic  together, 
and  I  had  offered  to  be  your  cook,  as  I  did  when  I  pro 
posed  going  into  Mrs.  Kite's  kitchen  and  getting  your 
supper  just  now,  we  should  have  been  remanded  in 
common  to  the  Golden  Age,  or  at  least  to  the  Homeric 
epoch,  and  you  would  have  found  it  poetic,  primitive, 

89 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

delightful.  But  here  we  were  not  remanded  to  a  period 
sufficiently  remote — at  least  I  wasn't.  I  only  got  back 
so  far  as  the  era  of  the  sons  of  the  farm-houses  who 
have  served  you  in  the  kitchen  and  helped  wait  on  you 
at  table,  and  it  gave  you  a  little  start  when  I  sat  down 
with  you." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  say  that — " 

"  But  isn't  it  true  ?"  The  young  man  laughed,  and 
rose  briskly  and  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
"  Starlight !"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  must  be  going !" 

"But  surely,"  Kelwyn  began,  rising  in  protest, 
"we  hoped  you  would  stay  the  night — Mrs.  Kelwyn 
will  wish—  It  will  be  late  for  you  at  the  Shakers', 
and  that  bit  of  road  through  the  woods — you  won't  be 
able  to  see  your  way." 

"  I  shall  get  to  the  Shakers'  in  time  for  people  who 
never  lock  their  doors;  and  the  stretch  of  black  road 
through  the  woods  will  add  a  strain  of  mystery  to  my 
experience;  I  shall  have  the  weird  pleasure  of  feel 
ing  my  way."  He  added,  musingly :  "  I  imagine  that 
the  animals  that  prowl  by  night  feel  their  way  much 
oftener  than  they  see  it.  I  shall  be  remanded  to  my 
animal  instincts.  You  would  call  it  degraded?"  He 
looked  at  Kelwyn  with  the  eyes  of  a  poet  rather  than 
a  sociologist,  but  he  broke  abruptly  from  his  ques 
tion.  "  Good-night.  Please  say  good-night  for  me  to 
the- 

"  But  you  mustn't  go  without —    Let  me  call  them !" 

"No,  no!    Don't!" 

Before  Kelwyn  could  hinder,  Emerance  had  found 
his  hat  and  was  gone. 


XII 


Mrs.  Kelwyn  and  Parthenope  came  in  from 
the  kitchen,  "  Where  is  Mr.  Emerance  ?"  the  elder 
woman  asked  with  her  tongue  and  the  younger  with  her 
eyes. 

"  He  has  just  gone ;  he  insisted  on  going — he  wouldn't 
let  me  call  you." 

"  Well  I"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  and  Parthenope  said 
nothing.  "  Didn't  you  ask  him  to  stay  ?  I  expected 
him  to  stay!" 

"  Of  course.     But  he  was  quite  determined." 

"  Very  strange !"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  was  as  silent  for  a 
while  as  Parthenope.  Then  she  sighed  with  relief. 
"  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well.  He  is  a  strange  being. 
Only  we  oughtn't  to  seem  ungrateful." 

"  I  have  been  trying  with  all  my  might  not  to  seem 
ungrateful,"  Kelwyn  retorted,  in  exasperation  with  the 
burden  he  felt  unjustly  cast  upon  him.  "  If  you  had 
been  here  you  would  have  thought  him  still  stranger." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  We  have  had  a  sociological  inquiry." 

"  Nonsense,  Elmer !" 

"  That  is  what  I  thought  it  amounted  to." 

"  What  was  it  ?"  she  pursued  him,  and  he  repeated 
their  talk  in  its  essentials. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  listened  in  mounting  disapproval.    But 
at  the  end  she  did  not  express  her  censure  directly.     It 
was  Parthenope  who  said:  "I  think  that  was  rather 
snobbish." 
7  91 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

'    *; 

Kelwyn  said,  "I  don't  think  it  was  snobbish'  ex 
actly." 

"  If  he  was  ashamed  of  what  he  had  done  it  was 
snobbish/'  she  insisted. 

"  People/'  Mrs.  Kelwyn  generalized,  "  who  have 
risen  above  their  origin  are  apt  to  be  sensitive  about 
such  things.  We  can't  wonder  at  that." 

"  No,"  Kelwyn  assented,  so  remote  from  his  own 
origin  that  he  did  not  wince.  His  mother  had  done 
her  own  work,  and  his  father  used  to  build  the  kitchen 
fire  for  her  before  he  went  down  and  swept  out  his 
store.  "  But  I  shouldn't  say  he  was  a  snob,  exactly. 
If  you  speculate  about  such  intimate  things  you  are 
in  danger  of  being  misunderstood.  But  I  thought  his 
inquiry  was  rather  interesting.  I  thought  there  was 
something  in  what  he  said." 

"  You  are  always  so  open-minded,  Elmer,"  his  wife 
applauded.  "  That,  I  think,  is  your  greatest  trait.  It's 
what  gives  you  your  influence." 

"  I  like  to  be  fair,"  he  so  far  accepted  her  praise. 

"  There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too  fair/'  Parthenope 
said,  with  scorn.  "  Don't  waste  your  fairness  on  Mr. 
Emerance,  Cousin  Elmer.  He  thought  we  would  de 
spise  him  for  cooking  our  supper,  and  he  was 
meanly  writhing  through  his  philosophy.  Was  he 
despising  us,  I  wonder,  for  cleaning  up  the  dishes 
after  him  ?" 

"He  would  feel  it  was  different  with  women/' 
Kelwyn  was  beginning,  but  she  cut  in  with  the  de 
mand: 

"  Because  women  are  naturally  servile  ?" 

"  Because  they  are  naturally  domestic.  But  what 
he  said  really  interested  me.  It  seemed  a  survival  of 
the  sort  of  question  that  vexed  Emerson  and  Lowell  in 

their  turn." 

92 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  But  I  don't  think  Emerson  and  Lowell  would  have 
shown  that  they  were  ashamed  of  getting  supper/'  the 
girl  retorted. 

"  They  were  perplexed  by  their  relation  to  those  who 
got  it  for  them/'  Kelwyn  insisted. 

"  Well,  good-night,  Cousin  Elmer.  Cousin  Carry, 
good-night.  I  believe  I'm  going  to  bed." 

Kelwyn  looked  at  his  wife.  "  Isn't  this  rather  a 
strange  turn  that  Parthenope  is  taking?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Of  course  she  is  a  little  disap 
pointed  at  his  not  waiting  for  her  to  come  back." 

Kelwyn's  look  deepened  into  a  stare.  Husbands  live 
all  their  lives  with  their  wives,  and  do  not  learn  the 
difference  between  men  and  women  in  the  most  ele 
mentary  things.  "  Can  you  make  out  who  or  what 
he  is?  Did  he  drop  any  hint  about  himself?  Did 
he  give  you  any  clew  ?" 

"  I  didn't  ask  for  any.  He  had  told  us  all  I  know. 
He  seems  to  have  been  a  teacher  in  the  public  schools 
and  a  pupil  in  the  cooking-schools.  We've  had  prac 
tical  proof  of  his  gifts  in  one  way,  and  he  has  tried  to 
show  himself  a  social  philosopher  with  me.  I  must  say 
his  omelets  are  good,  whatever  his  ideas  are." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  with  apparent  irrelevance :  "  You 
can  see  that  her  curiosity  is  piqued  by  him.  That's 
what  made  her  so  severe.  Is  he  going  to  stay  long  with 
the  Shakers?" 

"Keally,  I  don't  know.  It  appears  that  they  have 
no  room  for  him,  from  what  you  have  told  me.  And 
I  don't  understand  that  they  have  any  work." 

"  They  would  let  him  stay  somehow.  You  know  they 
never  turn  anybody  away.  It  would  be  simply  impos 
sible  to  let  him  come  here.  And  I  am  very  glad  he 
didn't  stay  the  night."  After  a  while  she  resumed, 
briefly:  "I've  been  afraid  that  the  intimacy  was  ad- 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

vancing  faster  than  the  acquaintance  would  bear.  It 
was  very  intimate,  their  getting  the  supper  together, 
that  way ;  it  was  domestic.  And  now,  her  condemning 
him  so  harshly!  I  don't  like  that.  Yes,  I'm  glad 
he's  gone." 

The  stars  of  the  summer  sky  twinkled  in  the  pools  of 
the  road  and  glinted  from  the  dripping  foliage  of  the 
wayside  bushes.  As  Emerance  kept  on  toward  the 
blackness  of  the  woods,  the  wagon-track  lost  its  dis 
tinctness  and  dwindled  into  two  parallel  ruts  which 
the  grass  overhung  the  more  densely  from  the  drench 
ing  of  the  recent  rain.  Before  he  entered  the  shadow 
his  shoes  were  soaked  through,  but  the  moisture  gave 
him  a  pleasure,  and  he  exulted  in  the  rich  solitude  and 
gloom.  Presently  he  was  aware  of  not  being  alone. 
There  was  a  damp  smell  of  horses  and  the  sound  of 
their  long,  sighing  breath,  and  then  there  was  a  burst 
of  blasphemy  from  a  man  who  was  apparently  swearing 
to  himself. 

"  Hello,  there !  Where  you  goin'  ?  You'll  be  right 
bunt  into  my  hossis,  fust  thing  you  know !" 

Emerance  stopped  and  retorted,  "  What  are  you  do 
ing  here  with  your  horses,  anyway,  in  the  middle  of 
the  road?" 

The  cursing  voice  responded :  "  Where'd  you  want 
me  to  be  with  my  hossis  ?  Something's  broke  'th  my 
wagon.  Got  a  match  ?" 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  Emerance  said.  "  But  can't  I  help 
you  somehow?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  can."  The  wet  crunching 
of  heavy  boots  advanced  toward  Emerance,  and  a  figure 
larger  than  life  in  the  dim  luminosity  hulked  over  him. 
"  If  I  had  a  match  or  something !  Do  you  know  where 
we  are  ?" 

94 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Not  far  from  the  edge  of  the  woods.    I've  just  got 
into  it." 

"  Well,  but  whare  else  are  we  ?" 
"  About  half  a  mile  from  the  Shakers'  South  Family 
House.7' 

"  Oh !    You  come  from  there  ?" 
"  Yes ;  I'm  on  my  way  to  the  Office  to  sleep." 
"  I  guess  I'm  goin'  to  sleep  here  in  the  woods,  for  all 
I  can  make  out,"  the  hulking  figure  said,  disconsolate 
ly.     "  No  use  to  feel,"  the  vague  giant  added.     "  If 
feelin'  could  ha'  done  it  I'd  ha'  b'en  home  an  hour 


"  Are  you  Mr.  Kite  ?"  Emerance  asked,  not  desisting 
from  his  tactile  examination  of  the  case  as  he  went  and 
came  round  the  team. 

"  My  name's  Kite." 

"  Well,  what  seems  to  be  the  matter  2" 

"  You  tell." 

"  Why  don't  you  drive  home  ?" 

"  Can't  start  the  hossis." 

"Balk?" 

"No!    Never!" 

They  both  stood  still. 

"  I'll  go  back  for  a  lantern,"  Emerance  said.  "  Or, 
wait  a  moment."  He  poked  in  among  the  horses'  heels, 
and  rattled  at  the  trace-chains  and  swingletrees,  where 
the  brutes  patiently  suffered  him.  "  Whoa !  Hold  on ! 
Yes!  Just  what  I  thought.  You've  backed  up  and 
caught  this  off  horse's  swingletree  into  the  wheel  and 
locked  it,  somehow,  so  it  can't  move." 

"Well!"  Kite  stupidly  commented.  "I  thought 
something  was  wrong  there,  but  I  couldn't  see  a  mite, 
and—" 

He  had  recovered  his  courage,  and  he  now  resumed 
command  of  the  situation.  He  called  to  his  horses, 

95 


THE    .VACATION    OF    THE    KELWYNS 

"  Hen-ep  !"  but  after  a  forward  strain  they  stood  still 
in  their  tracks.  The  ingenious  accident  had  not  hap 
pened  without  due  intricacy. 

"  Hold  on !"  Emerance  called  to  him.  "  I  didn't  say 
I'd  got  it  free  yet.  It's  caught  so  that  I  can't  loosen  it 
unless  you  can  get  me  something  to  see  by,  and  even 
then- 

"  Look  here !"  Kite  said,  lunging  back  to  him,  with 
a  sound  as  of  cattle  breaking  through  underbrush.  "  If 
us  two  can't  pull  it  loose  I'm  goin'  to  untackle  the 
hossis  and  leave  the  wagon  here  till  mornin'.  Ain't 
nobody  goin?  to  run  off  with  it,  the  wheel  locked  that 
way." 

"  Might  be  a  good  idea,"  Emerance  consented,  and 
after  they  had  vainly  tugged  at  the  swingletree  to 
gether  it  came  to  that  end.  Kite  untackled  his 
horses  and  got  them  by  the  bridles.  "  Livin'  about 
here?"  he  asked,  as  a  preliminary  to  parting  with 
Emerance. 

"  I'm  staying  with  the  Shakers  for  a  few  days.  I 
thought  I  might  get  some  sort  of  farm  work.  But 
they've  got  nothing  for  me  to  do." 

"  Used  to  farm  work  ?" 

"  I  was  brought  up  to  it." 

"  You  don't  sound  like  it," 

"  Oh,  I've  taught  school  a  good  while." 

"  I  don't  see,"  Kite  said,  sulkily,  rather  to  himself 
than  Emerance,  "  how  they  s'pose  I'm  goin'  to  get  that 
piece  of  English  grass  cut."  He  made  a  start,  calling 
over  his  shoulder  to  Emerance  for  good-night,  "  Well, 
so  long!" 

"  Better  let  me  Eelp  you." 

"  I  guess  I  can  manage  my  Eossis  alone,"  Kite  an 
swered,  haughtily. 

"  I  meant  the  English  grass." 

96 


THE    .VACATION    OE    THE    KELWYNS 

"Oh!    Well.    Why,  what  the—     This  Hoss  is  lame !" 
Emerance  came  forward  out  of  the  blacker  darkness 
to  the  horses'  heads. 

"  I'll  go  back  with  you  and  we'll  look  him  over  in  the 
barn.  I  can  get  into  the  Shakers'  any  time;  perhaps 
you'll  give  me  a  shake-down  in  your  haymow." 

If  the  offer  of  help  had  been  for  anything  but  his 
horse  Kite  might  have  refused  it,  but  as  it  was  he 
neither  consented  nor  refused.  He  merely  said,  letting 
Emerance  take  the  bridle  of  the  sound  horse :  "  He's  a 
funny  devil.  Don't  mind  if  he  tries  to  nip  you.  He 
don't  mean  nothing  by  it,  but  you  want  to  look 
out." 

They  went  along  over  tEe  way  Emerance  had  come, 
splashing  through  the  miry  ruts  and  brushing  the  wet 
from  the  wayside  bushes.  As  they  came  in  front  of  the 
Family  house,  Parthenope  had  just  blown  her  lamp  out 
and  was  debating  with  herself  how  much  of  her  window 
she  should  put  down  and  how  much  leave  up,  in  pre 
caution  against  its  growing  hotter  or  colder  toward 
morning,  when  she  heard  a  noise  as  of  the  snorting 
and  plunging  of  horses,  with  the  rattling  of  chains,  and 
the  leathern  creaking  of  harness.  Then  she  heard  a 
voice  which  she  knew  for  Kite's  saying,  "  You  just 
ketch  a-hold  of  this  other  feller  a  minute,  and  I'll  git 
my  lantern  here  in  the  woodhouse." 

A  voice  which  she  knew  for  Emerance's  answered, 
"  Look  out ;  there's  a  bear  in  there !" 

"  A  bear  ?    What's  a  bear  doin'  in  my  woodhouse  ?" 

She  heard  Emerance  explaining  and  Kite  threaten 
ing  to  have  the  bear  and  his  leader  out  of  that,  he  did 
not  care  what  happened,  and  then  Emerance  protesting, 
and  at  last  the  tinkling  note  of  Ifrs.  Kite  calling,  as 
from  an  open  doorway :  "  Here's  your  lantern,  Alvin ; 
I  got  it  out  for  you.  Where  have  you  been?  I  kep* 

97 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

supper  for  you;  but  it's  pretty  cold  now,  I  guess,  or 
it  will  be  by  the  time  you  get  through  with  your  hossis. 
That  Raney  there  with  you?" 

"  !No,  it's  a  feller  that  helped  me  with  the  hossis, 
back  here  in  the  woods  a  piece.  He's  goin'  to  sleep  in 
the  barn;  I  want  you  should  bring  him  out  something 
to  eat." 

"  All  right,"  Mrs.  Kite  answered  back.  "  But  you 
want  to  be  careful  who  you  let  sleep  in  the  barn,  Alvin. 
Does  he  smoke?" 

"  No,  I  don't  smoke,  Mrs.  Kite.  And  I'm  not 
hungry.  I  shall  do  very  well." 

"  Why,  that  you,  Mr.  Emerance?" 

"  Quiet  I  Whoa  \  Whoa  I  These  horses  smell  the 
bear.  Take  hold  of  his  head,  Mrs.  Kite  I  Whoa  there  I 
Back  up !" 

The  red  blot  of  a  lantern  came  wavering  from  the 
door  below,  and,  dipping  and  jerking  through  the  dark, 
indicated  the  progress  of  Mrs.  Kite  toward  the  place 
where  the  horses  made  their  terror  heard. 

A  vague  envy  pierced  Parthenope's  heart.  She 
dropped  on  her  knees  at  the  window  and  put  her  head 
out  to  see  all  that  she  could  of  the  drama  which  was 
more  audible  than  visible.  She  would  have  liked  to  be 
there  in  Mrs.  Kite's  place,  holding  the  lantern  and 
helping  the  men.  She  wanted  to  call,  "  Wait  for  me, 
Mrs.  Kite ;  I'm  coming !"  and  she  wanted  to  do  this  so 
much  that  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  done  it.  But 
she  knew  she  had  not,  and  after  a  cry  from  Mrs.  Kite, 
"  He's  got  away !"  and  her  husband's  blast  of  curses 
and  the  rush  of  a  clashing  and  snorting  horse,  with  the 
pursuit  of  a  man  who  must  have  been  Emerance  from 
his  distant  call,  "  It's  all  right ;  I've  got  him,"  she  did 
nothing  bolder  than  put  her  head  farther  out  of  the 
window  and  try  to  see  better.  But  she  could  only  hear 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Emerance  coming  back  with  tHe  horse  and  then  his  re 
newed  struggle  in  getting  him  past  the  woodhouse ;  Kite 
must  have  already  got  by  with  the  other  horse,  for  his 
swearing  sounded  farther  off,  in  the  direction  of  the 
barn. 

The  struggle  of  the  man  and  the  brute  ended  in  the 
man's  triumph;  the  red  blot  of  the  lantern  followed 
with  Mrs.  Kite  toward  the  barn.  It  was  a  long  time 
before  it  came  flickering  back,  but  Parthenope  could 
have  waited  till  morning.  She  heard  voices  lifted,  the 
voice  of  Kite  saying,  "  Well,  don't  oversleep  yourself," 
and  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Kite  calling,  "  Well,  we'll  have 
breakfast  at  five  o'clock,"  and  then  she  realized  that 
Emerance  was  going  to  sleep  in  the  barn.  It  was  not 
the  hardship  of  it,  but  the  shame  of  it  that  made  her 
wish  to  shake  her  kindred  from  their  sleep  and  shock 
them  into  the  hospitality  they  ought  to  offer  from  their 
superfluity  of  shelter  in  the  great  empty  Family  house ; 
and  when  the  Kites  had  got  back  within  eavesdropping 
at  their  door  under  her  window  she  caught  certain  gen 
eralities  from  them  which  she  could  not  help  knowing 
had  a  particular  bearing  on  the  case. 

"  I  hated  to  leave  him  out  there,"  Mrs.  Kite  said, 
"  but  there  wa'n't  a  place  where  I  could  think  to  put 
him;  I'd  have  made  Arthur  get  in  with  me,  but  the 
child's  bed  wouldn't  have  been  big  enough,  and  Albert 
and  Raney  have  only  got  one  between  them.  I  shouldn't 
mind  the  bats,  but  the  rats  runnin'  all  over  him !  Well, 
some  folks  don't  seem  to  care  for  any  one  else." 

"  No"  Kite  agreed.  "  Want  you  to  slave  your  life 
out  for  'em,  but  when  it  comes  to  doin'  for  anybody 
else,  they  got  both  hoofs  in  the  troth  every  time." 

"He's  full  as  well  educated  as  they  be.  He  talks 
as  correct." 

"  I  don't  care  about  the  talkin'.    It's  the  doin'  I  look 

99 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

at.  He  stood  by  like  a  major.  Hadn't  been  for  him,  I 
guess  I  should  ha'  slep'  in  the  woods  to-night,  let  alone 
the  barn.  Well,  it  takes  all  kinds  to  make  a  world. 
One  thing,  I'm  glad  I  ain't  their  kind." 

"  We  should  ha'  had  to  call  'em  up  out  of  their  sleep," 
Mrs.  Kite  tittered. 

"  Should  we  ha'  minded  bein'  called  out  of  our 
sleep  ?" 

"  No ;  but  then  we  don't  bange  round  all  day !" 

"  That's  about  the  size  of  it,  I  guess.  If  we'd  wore 
ourselves  out  findin'  fault,  we'd  want  our  rest." 

The  Kites  shut  themselves  in  with  the  comfort  of 
their  opinions,  and  Parthenope  heard  no  more.  She 
left  that  question  of  how  much  window  she  should 
keep  open,  and  crept  into  bed  and  tried  to  think  of 
what  could  be  said  in  defence  of  the  Kelwyns.  She 
loved  her  cousin,  and  in  spite  of  what  she  felt  to  be  the 
crude  justice  of  the  case  against  her  she  was  indignant 
ly  loyal  to  her,  and  the  more  so  because  she  knew  that 
she  and  not  Kelwyn  was  chiefly  at  fault.  But  had  not 
they  both  treated  Emerance  as  they  would  not  have 
treated  one  whose  place  in  the  world  they  were  surer 
of?  Had  not  she  herself  been  a  little  too  topping  in 
some  particulars  of  consciousness?  She  did  not  abate 
even  in  her  actual  humiliation  all  sense  of  that  superi 
ority  which  she  felt  toward  people  she  did  not  exactly 
understand;  and  undoubtedly  she  did  not  understand 
this  very  anomalous  Mr.  Emerance.  But  she  could  have 
wished  at  last  that  she  had  not  insisted  on  giving 
the  bear  coffee  herself;  and  in  the  one-sided  colloquy 
she  now  held  with  Mr.  Emerance  she  at  once  confessed 
that  she  had  been  very  headstrong,  and  made  him  say 
that  he  had  not  thought  of  her  action  as  an  instance  of 
obstinacy  but  rather  of  admirable  courage.  She  wished 
that  she  had  the  courage  to  knock  at  Mrs.  Kelwyn's 

100 


THE    VACATION    OF    THE    !rCL\VYRS 


door  and  tell  her  that  Mr.  Emerance  was  going  to  .sjeeyf 
in  the  barn  ;  but  this,  for  more  reasons  than  one,  would 
have  taken  more  courage  than  she  had.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  should  never  get  to  sleep,  but  there  are  few 
moral  causes  that  can  keep  youth  awake  the  whole 
night,  and  Parthenope  slept  long  before  morning. 

The  hay  in  the  barn  was  the  last  year's  hay,  and 
Emerance's  bed  was  not  so  sweet  as  it  was  soft.  But 
it  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  slept  on  old  hay  in  a 
barn  ;  he  had  dreamed  Fourths  of  July  in  when  he  was 
a  boy  on  such  a  bed,  and  sometimes  when  he  was  an 
older  boy,  coming  home  from  a  dance  later  than  he 
wished  his  father  to  know,  he  had  crept  into  the  mow 
over  the  stall  where  he  had  bedded  his  horse,  and  got 
a  full  night's  rest  between  three  o'clock  and  six  of  the 
morning.  His  reminiscences  did  not  so  perfume  the 
hay  but  its  mustiness  was  too  much  for  him  till  he 
turned  on  his  back  and  faced  the  roof,  where  the  stars 
looked  back  at  him  through  the  crevices  of  the  old 
shingles.  He  suspected  that  the  small  chirpings  and 
squeakings  from  the  rafters  were  the  vigils  of  bats,  but 
they  were  as  possibly  the  somnambulic  notes  of  swal 
lows;  and  the  logic  of  the  situation  was  that  he  would 
"be  fast  asleep  before  the  rats  would  leave  the  oats  in 
the  bins  of  the  horses  below  and  begin  their  question  of 
him  in  his  loft. 

He  wondered  if  the  Shakers  would  let  him  help  Kite 
cut  that  piece  of  English  grass.  He  did  not  wish  to 
stay  with  them  unless  he  could  be  of  use  ;  but  he  wished 
to  stay  with  them,  if  indeed  it  was  they  with  whom  ho 
wished  to  stay.  The  horses  champed  their  oats,  and 
pounded  the  floor  with  their  hoofs,  and  heaved  deep 
sighs  of  comfort.  'As  if  with  no  interval,  he  heard  a 
loud  clamor  of  cocks  and  a  shouting  of  robins,  and 
a  fabric  of  joyous  sound  seemed  risen  from  the  earth 

101 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

to  tlie  sky  :where  now  the  sun  and  not  the  stars  shone 
down  through  the  roof. 

When  the  Kelwyns  gathered  for  their  eight-o'clock 
breakfast,  and  Mrs.  Kite  had  left  their  coffee  on  the 
table,  she  smoothly  reappeared  with  a  plate  of  gems  in 
her  hand. 

"  Mr.  Emerance  made  'em,  and  he  thought  you  would 
like  a  pan,  and  I  been  trying  to  keep  'em  warm;  but 
it's  so  late  that  I  don't  know  as  I  have,  exactly." 

At  the  fact  unfolded,  bit  by  bit,  from  Parthenope's 
admissions,  Kelwyn  showed  a  helpless  regret;  but  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  defended  herself.  "  It  can't  be  helped  now. 
But  you  ought  to  have  insisted  upon  his  staying,  Elmer. 
Then  nothing  of  all  this  would  have  happened." 

In  the  late  evening  Kite  came  home  alone  from  the 
English  meadow.  The  Kelwyns  heard  him  telling  his 
wife  that  Mr.  Emerance  had  gone  to  the  Shakers'  for 
the  night,  and  they  felt  a  rise  of  self-respect  in  the  fact 
that  he  was  not  going  to  sleep  another  night  in  the 
barn.  They  were  able  to  convict  him  of  a  certain  want 
of  consideration  for  them  in  having  slept  there  at  all. 
But  the  next  morning,  when  Kelwyn  went  over  to  the 
Shakers'  for  his  mail,  he  brought  back  word  that  Emer 
ance  had  left  by  an  early  train;  the  Office  Sisters 
thought,  for  Boston.  Kelwyn  was  somehow  crestfallen 
at  the  fact,  and  they  all  went  rather  dully  through  the 
day. 


XIII 

FOE  Parthenope  the  unexpected  drama  of  Her  first 
afternoon  seemed  far  removed  in  time.  The  wood- 
house  stood  open  and  empty,  as  if  consciously  showing 
the  absence  of  the  bear  and  his  leader,  whom  Mrs. 
Kite  reported  seeing  make  off  toward  the  woods  in  the 
morning  after  when  she  got  up  to  kindle  the  kitchen 
fire.  Only  one  thing  happened  in  the  interval  now  fol 
lowing  to  divert  the  girl's  thoughts  from  their  centrip 
etal  tendency;  and  the  excitement  of  this  she  shared 
with  the  whole  household.  It  was  the  disappearance 
of  a  series  of  Mrs.  Kite's  pies  from  the  hanging-shelf 
in  the  cellar  where  she  had  put  them  on  Saturday 
night  with  her  own  hands  duly  numbered.  Day  after 
day,  pie  after  pie,  they  disappeared  for  nearly  a  week, 
and  then  ceased  to  disappear.  The  fact  would  have 
suggested  tramps ;  but  the  cellar  doors  remained  locked, 
and  Kelwyn  contended  that  though  a  succession  of 
tramps  might  steal  pies  of  Mrs.  Kite's  make  not  the 
same  tramp  or  tramps  would  continue  to  steal  them. 
The  hypothesis  of  rats  was  untenable  because  of  the 
height  of  the  shelf,  but  in  view  of  the  fact  that  there 
is  nothing  rats  cannot  do,  it  was  decided  that  the  pies 
had  been  taken  by  rats.  When  the  pies  were  no  longer 
taken  the  hypothesis  of  rats  was  rejected,  and  then  the 
excitement  passed  into  a  lulling  sense  of  mystery. 

Kelwyn  wrote  at  his  lectures  all  the  morning,  and 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  worked  at  her  mending  in  the  after 
noon.  The  girl  took  long  rambles  with  the  Kelwyn 

103 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

boys  through  the  woods  and  over  the  fields,  when 
they  would  rather  have  been  about  the  mischief  in 
which  the  Kite  boy  abounded;  but  they  submitted  to 
her  companionship,  and  the  Kite  boy  made  his  ex 
cursions  on  the  old  white  horse  alone.  He  had  found 
pasturage  for  him  in  a  wood-lot  which  he  made  believe 
his  mother  had  given  to  him  for  that  use,  and  in  the 
horse's  toothless  incapacity  for  grazing  he  had  fed  him 
with  soft  mushes  when  he  could  filch  the  cornmeal  for 
them  and  escape  with  them  from  the  kitchen  door.  He 
had  a  hardy  contempt  for  such  pleasures  as  straw- 
berrying  in  the  meadow,  where  the  grass  crept  thinly 
lip  into  the  shelter  of  the  pines,  and  where,  over  the 
mat  of  the  fallen  needles,  the  vines  hung  their  crimson 
berries  in  clusters  like  chimes  of  fairy  bells.  The  pos 
sibility  of  chipmunks  and  woodchucks  reconciled  him 
somewhat  more  to  blueberrying  in  the  burnt  lands, 
which  the  forest  fires  had  left  charred,  but  which  a 
dense  growth  of  bushes  had  almost  consoled  for  their 
blight,  between  the  Family  house  and  the  pond  in  the 
chestnut  woods;  when  Francy  Kelwyn  sprang  shriek 
ing  from  a  clump  of  blueberry  bushes,  with  the  blood 
streaming  from  a  dozen  punctures  in  his  smooth-shorn 
head,  where  a  swarm  of  yellow- jackets  had  stung  him, 
the  Kite  boy  seemed  to  feel  that  his  sacrifice  had  met 
some  recognition,  and  he  joyously  invited  the  sufferer 
to  remain  with  him  and  fight  the  enemy. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  lived  in  an  unremitting  anxiety  con 
cerning  him.  He  was  the  confidant  of  nature  in  the 
most  occult  intimacies  of  animal  life;  he  assisted  with 
the  same  zeal  at  the  births  and  deaths  of  the  barn-yard ; 
and  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  who  kept  her  boys  as  well  as  she 
could  from  sharing  his  bolder  knowledge,  could  not 
always  prevent  them  from  claiming  the  previous  ac 
quaintance  of  the  pork  and  veal  and  poultry  which 

104 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

came  to  the  table.  She  felt  him  to  be  a  dangerous  part 
of  the  hardships  which  she  and  her  family  endured  in 
the  keeping  of  his,  and  as  noxious  to  her  children's 
morals  as  his  mother  to  their  digestions. 

Mrs.  Kite  had  quite  lapsed  from  the  ideal  which  she 
had  imagined  from  Emerance's  example,  and  was  the 
worse  for  her  efforts  to  remember  the  things  she  im 
agined  from  it.  Yet,  if  she  had  not  been  a  wonder 
of  such  satisfied  inefficiency,  certain  qualities  of  hers 
might  have  won  upon  the  tolerance  if  not  the  liking 
of  the  Kelwyns ;  preposterous  as  it  was,  she  sometimes 
affected  them  as  a  lady,  or  as  a  conditional  entity  which 
would  have  evolved  in  time  into  some  ornamental  type 
rather  than  another.  Her  cooking  could  be  ignored  in 
the  supplies  of  canned  foods  and  of  baker's  bread  from 
the  village  grocery,  and  now  and  then  it  was  amelio 
rated  by  Parthenope's  visits  to  the  kitchen,  which  Mrs. 
Kite  suffered  with  placid  indifference  and  Mrs.  Kel- 
wyn  permitted  with  protests  against  the  violation  of 
principle  involved.  For  the  girl  they  were  tinged  with 
pensive  associations  from  the  gay  afternoon  and  even 
ing  when  she  had  been  the  handmaid  of  Emerance  in 
the  preparation  of  the  picnic  feasts  of  the  memorable 
day  which  had  ended  in  such  inconclusion. 

The  week  she  had  meant  to  spend  with  her  cousins 
passed,  but  at  a  little  urgence  she  stayed  on.  She 
could  not  exactly  say  that  she  had  come  to  them  merely 
for  a  fresh  point  of  view;  that  would  have  been  rather 
ungracious;  but  she  said  that  she  had  been  wondering 
whether  it  might  not  be  better  for  her  aunt's  health, 
and  usefuler  for  her  own  art,  to  go  to  Europe  for  the 
summer,  and  spend  the  winter  there.  She  wished  to 
talk  the  matter  over  with  the  Kelwyns;  for  the  pres 
ent,  however,  they  all  put  it  by. 


XIV 

THE  fame  of  Parthenope's  coffee-making  had  spread 
from  Mrs.  Kite  to  the  Shakers,  and  one  afternoon  some 
of  the  Sisters  came,  at  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  invitation,  to  see 
the  girl  make  it  and  to  drink  it  when  it  was  made. 
Coffee,  in  their  ethics,  was  not  quite  a  sin ;  it  was  more 
like  a  venial  excess;  if  now  and  then  it  must  be  per 
mitted,  as  in  their  experience  it  was,  then  they  might 
be  partially  redeemed  from  error  if  the  coffee  were 
very  good.  They  clustered,  dovelike  in  their  soft  drab, 
around  the  table  where  Parthenope  watched  the  ma 
chine,  and  admired  her  beauty  and  grace  and  fashion 
in  muted  asides  to  Mrs.  Kelwyn.  When  the  smoking 
coffee  spilled  from  the  spout  they  broke  into  subdued 
cries  of  wonder,  and  when  the  girl  filled  their  cups 
with  it,  one  after  another,  and  soothed  its  sparkle  from 
the  bottle  of  cream  which  they  had  brought  with  them 
for  a  present,  they  felt  sure  that  such  coffee  as  that 
could  not  hurt  anybody;  Sister  Saranna  said  so,  and 
they  all  said  so. 

They  each  took  more  than  one  cup,  in  the  difficulty 
of  making  the  coffee  and  the  Peake  &  Frean  wafers, 
with  which  their  hostess  surprised  them,  come  out  even 
ly  together;  and  they  stayed  nearly  the  whole  after 
noon  talking.  In  the  security  of  their  distance  from 
the  ground-floor  ell,  where  the  Kites  lived,  they  talked 
of  the  Kites,  and  so  justly  and  kindly  that  Mrs.  Kel 
wyn  could  join  them  in  the  justice  if  not  the  kindness. 

Sister  Saranna  talked  the  most  because  the  others 

106 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

deferred,  and  not  because  she  wished.  She  owned  that 
she  had  never  wanted  Brother  Jasper  to  keep  the  Kites 
after  he  had  tried  in  vain  to  make  them  prepare  for 
their  guests ;  but  there  did  not  seem  to  be  any  one  else. 
"  Jasper  was  two  weeks  trying  to  get  him  to  put  up 
shelves  for  you  in  the  milk-room  instead  of  the  cellar, 
where  the  dust  from  the  beams  used  to  speckle  the 
cream  so." 

"Used!"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  exclaimed.  "Why,  it  does 
so  yet  1" 

"  I  want  to  know !"  Saranna  lamented.  "  And  the 
butter  ?" 

"  Worse  than  ever.  The  last  churning  she  let  stand 
three  days  without  working  it,  and  it  was  so  rancid 
that  we  could  not  eat  it  and  had  to  get  some  from  the 
village." 

Saranna  was  dumb.  "  I'm  'most  afraid,"  she  mur 
mured,  at  last,  "  to  ask  anything  about  the  beds." 

"  We  have  attended  to  those  ourselves,  Sister  Sa 
ranna,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  returned,  with  patience  that  she 
felt  the  sister  ought  to  feel  was  saintly.  "  I  cannot  un 
derstand  these  people ;  and  I  hardly  dare  have  Mr.  Kel 
wyn  speak  to  the  man  any  more,  he  swears  so,  and  he 
thinks  that  every  complaint  we  make  is  an  imputation 
on  his  wife's  character.  He  considers  her  perfect,  and 
she's  just  as  devoted  to  him.  Of  course  I  like  that  in 
them,  but  their  standing  by  each  other  doesn't  help  us 
at  all ;  it  makes  the  situation  worse,  if  anything.  Don't 
they  wish  to  please  us  ?" 

"  Why,  she  was  quite  proud  at  the  idea  of  having 
you  come,  and  of  getting  the  Family  house  to  live  in 
after  you  go  in  the  fall.  I  can't  make  it  out  any 
more  than  you.  But  sometimes  I  think  we  ain't  quite 
fair  to  expect  all  women  to  be  good  housekeepers. 
Some  of  them  are  born  to  it  and  some  ain't,  any  more 
8  107 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

than  men  to  the  same  trade,  and  they  can't  seem  to 
learn  because  they  don't  take  any  interest.  Don't  you 
think  she's  got  pretty  manners?" 

"  Beautiful !"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  conceded,  in  some  ex 
cess,  secure  of  her  other  grounds  against  Mrs.  Kite. 
"  She  has  almost  the  manners  of  a  lady ;  she  has  re 
pose." 

"  Too  much,"  one  of  the  younger  Sisters  ventured, 
and  the  rest  tittered  helplessly. 

"  Well,  we  must  see  what  can  be  done,"  Saranna 
ended  the  matter,  and  this  gave  Mrs.  Kelwyn  the 
courage  which  the  good-will  of  the  Shakers  always 
gave  her.  When  the  Sisters  were  gone  she  and  Par- 
thenope  talked  them  over,  and  agreed  that  no  behavior 
they  had  seen  in  the  world  outside  was  so  charming  as 
theirs. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  could  not  formulate  their  joint  sense 
of  it;  but  she  accepted  the  notion  of  Parthenope,  who 
asked :  "  Don't  you  think  it  must  be  their  sincerity  ?  I 
kept  noticing,  all  the  time,  how  they  could  express 
every  shade  of  politeness  in  the  simplest  way  without 
any  of  our  compliments,  and  how  they  could  make  Nay 
sound  as  sweet  and  kind  as  Yee.  I  suppose  they  mean 
Yea." 

"  Yes ;  I  noticed  it,  too,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  sighed,  "  and 
when  I  could  forget  the  Kites  I  enjoyed  it.  How  those 
wretched  Kites  spoil  everything!  They're  as  much  a 
blight  on  the  society  of  the  Shakers  as  they  are  on  the 
weather  or  the  scenery.  I  don't  suppose,"  she  la 
mented,  "  that  people  who  enjoy  nice  natural  things, 
as  Mr.  Kelwyn  and  I  do,  were  ever  so  baffled.  When 
I  can  get  the  Kites  out  of  my  mind  I'm  radiantly 
happy." 

She  expressed  the  idea  of  her  radiant  happiness  in 
a  wail  that  made  the  girl  turn  away  her  face.  It  would 

108 


THE  VACATION  OF,  THE  KELWYNS 

have  been  cruel  to  laugE  at  Her  cousin;  and  she  felt 
the  pity  of  her  case  the  more  when  Mrs.  Kelwyn 
owned :  "  The  day  I  got  your  letter  saying  you  were 
coming,  I  tried  to  make  Mr.  Kelwyn  stop  you;  I  was 
ashamed  to  have  you  find  us  in  this  squalor ;  but  if  you 
hadn't  come  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done. 
You  may  be  sure,  Thennie,  I  appreciate  your  staying 


on." 


The  example  of  the  Shakers'  sincerity  had  so  far 
wrought  with  the  girl  that  she  felt  she  must  say,  "  Yes, 
but  you  know  I  oughtn't  to  impose  on  your  good 
nature." 

"  Oh,  impose !" 

"  I  mean,"  Parthenope  added,  more  honestly,  "  Aunt 
Julia  will  be  expecting  me  back  any  day,  now.  She'll 
want  to  be  getting  off  to  Pigeon  Cove,  and  she'll  need 
my  help." 

"  Oh,  don't  go !"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  entreated,  with  sud 
den  tears.  "  I  can't  let  you — yet !  I'll  write  to  Aunt 
Julia—" 

"  No !  That  wouldn't  do.  But  7  will  write,  Cousin 
Carry ;  and  she'll  let  me  stay,  I  know,  till  you're  more 
settled."  They  kissed  each  other,  and  her  burst  of 
tears  was  such  relief  to  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  and  Mrs.  Kite 
had  so  far  mastered  the  art  of  toasting  the  baker's 
bread  without  charring  it,  and  had  by  such  a  happy 
chance  brought  hot  water  for  steeping  the  tea  on  the 
table,  that,  with  their  chipped  beef  and  their  potted 
jam,  the  Kelwyn  family  were  able  to  sup  in  self-respect 
verging  on  pride.  Their  mother  put  the  boys  to  bed 
in  a  cheerfulness  they  could  not  share,  and  when  they 
had  said  their  prayers  after  her  she  left  Parthenope  to 
sit  with  them  and  keep  the  dark  off  till  they  fell  asleep. 

She  was  still  more  heartened  before  she  slept  by 
something  Kelwyn  had  forgotten  to  tell  her,  though 

109 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

she  was  indignant  with  him  for  forgetting  when  he  did 
tell  her. 

"  I  saw  Brother  Jasper  to-day,  and  he's  found  a 
family  to  put  in  the  place  of  the  Kites." 

"  He  has?' '  A  note  of  joy  came  into  Mrs.  Kelwyn's 
voice. 

"  Yes.  The  man  has  been  in  the  Shakers'  employ 
and  the  woman  is  an  excellent  cook.  Should  you  want 
to  go  away  if  they  come  ?" 

"  That  certainly  puts  a  different  face  on  the  matter. 
But  are  you  sure  they  will  come  ?" 

"  The  Shakers  are  to  let  me  know  to-morrow.  Then 
they  will  arrange  with  the  Kites." 

"  I  feel  sorry  for  them,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  with 
dutiful  compunction. 

"  Oh,  so  do  I.  But  I  feel  sorry  for  myself  and  my 
family,  too,"  he  said. 

"  It  isn't,"  she  reflected,  "  as  if  they  had  tried  to  do 
better,  They  really  don't  seem  to  want  to.  And,  as 
you  say,  we  ought  to  consider  ourselves." 

"Did  I  say  that?" 

"  You  the  same  as  said  it." 

Kelwyn  hoped  that  somehow  he  had  not,  but  he  did 
not  insist. 


afternoon,  a  few  days  later,  Elder  Nathaniel 
came  with  a  bunch  of  sturdy  flowers  in  his  hand — cox 
comb,  and  prince's  -  feather,  and  balsam,  and  four- 
o'clock,  and  marigold.  "  For  the  young  woman/'  he 
said,  gravely,  when  Kelwyn,  whom  he  found  lying  on 
the  grass  under  the  elms,  rose  to  greet  him. 

"  For  my  cousin  ?  She  is  out  with  the  children  some 
where." 

"  Yee.     You  can  give  them  to  her  later." 

"  Well,  then,  take  a  stretch  of  turf,"  Kelwyn  said, 
and  the  two  lay  down  together  on  the  grass.  It  was 
becoming  a  habit  of  theirs  when  Elder  Nathaniel  called 
for  a  half-hour  of  the  philosophic  converse  he  loved. 
"  The  Sisters  were  much  pleased  with  their  visit."  He 
turned  his  delicate  aquiline  profile  toward  Kelwyn. 
"  The  coffee  was  pretty  strong,  I  guess." 

"  Miss  Brook  does  make  it  rather  strong.  Were 
they  excited?" 

"  They  were  still  talking — a  little.  Friend  Kelwyn, 
we  are  all  much  concerned  that  you  are  not  more  com 
fortable  here.  I  did  not  think  when  I  mentioned  this 
house  to  you  in  the  spring  that  it  would  be  so  bad." 

"  Why,  it  might  be  worse,"  Kelwyn  said,  by  way  of 
owning  that  it  might  be  much  better. 

"  We  all  tell  Jasper  that  he  did  not  use  the  best 
judgment  in  putting  Friend  Kite  and  his  wife  in  to 
care  for  you,  but  he  says  he  used  the  best  judgment  he 
had  at  the  time.  He  is  making  careful  inquiries  about 

ill 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  people  he  has  found  to  replace  them,  and  as  soon 
as  he  is  satisfied  we  will  make  the  change." 

Kelwjn  waited  a  moment  before  he  said :  "  I  don't 
feel  quite  easy  about  putting  the  Kites  out.  They  are 
not  fit  to  stay,  of  course,  and  there  isn't  a  day  when 
they  keep  their  agreement  fully.  They  don't  know 
how;  apparently  they  don't  want  to.  Sometimes  we 
think  they  want  to  force  us  out." 

"  Nay,  we  couldn't  allow  that,"  Elder  Nathaniel 
protested. 

"  It  all  seemed  very  simple  in  prospect/'  Kelwyn 
went  on.  "  We  had  only  to  say,  '  You  don't  do  and  you 
must  go.' ? 

"  Yee  ?"  the  Elder  prompted. 

"  Of  course  we  expected  that  it  could  be  arranged 
so  that  they  should  lose  nothing — " 

"  That  could  be  arranged." 

"  But  that  doesn't  seem  so  conclusive  or  inclusive 
as  it  did  in  prospect.  There  is  something  besides  their 
interest  to  be  considered.  Their  natural  pride  is  to  be 
considered,  their  unnatural  self-respect — for  they  have 
no  reason  to  respect  themselves  in  their  failure  with  us 
— and  their  real  disgrace  before  the  community  if  we 
should  turn  them  out." 

"  Yee,"  Elder  Nathaniel  gently  acquiesced.  He 
added,  sadly,  "  Life  is  not  very  logical,  Friend  Kel- 
wyn." 

"  No,  or  else  its  logic  is  in  the  consequences,  not  in 
the  actions.  Of  course,  consequences  flow  from  causes, 
but  the  actions  that  relate  the  consequences  to  the  causes 
often  seem  to  be  of  a  quality  quite  different  from 
either." 

"  Yee ;  but  it  is  in  them  that  our  individual  respon 
sibility  lies.  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  causes  or 
consequences.  They  seem  to  belong  to  God." 

lit 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Kelwyn  smiled.  "  Well,  that  is  why  I  feel  slow  to 
act,  even  in  such  a  simple  case  as  turning  these  miser 
able  people  out  of  a  house  where  they  have  forfeited 
all  right  to  remain.  At  any  rate,  I  shall  want  to  know 
fully  about  the  couple  that  Brother  Jasper  proposes  to 
put  in  their  place." 

Elder  Nathaniel  forbore  to  recognize  the  inconse 
quence,  if  he  saw  it,  which  Kelwyn's  decision  implied. 
He  only  said :  "  He  is  asking  about  them.  We  don't 
want  to  make  another  mistake,  either,"  and  then  he 
said,  with  no  apparent  sense  of  relevance,  "  Friend 
Emerance  has  come  back." 

"  Emerance  has  come  back !"  Kelwyn  echoed,  with  a 
joyousness  which  he  could  have  proved  no  more  logical 
than  some  other  things  in  life.  "  When  ?" 

"  By  the  early  train  this  morning.  He  walked  up 
from  the  depot  before  breakfast." 

"  Is  he  going  to  stay  with  you  ?" 

"  Nay ;  I  don't  know  that.  There  is  nothing  for  him 
to  do,  and  we  have  no  room  for  permanent  guests  in 
the  Office.  And  Friend  Emerance  does  not  give  us  the 
hope  that  he  will  ever  be  gathered  in." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him  again,"  Kelwyn 
said,  ignoring  the  fact  which  Elder  Nathaniel  had 
owned  with  a  sigh.  He  tried  to  continue  the  conver 
sation  on  the  impersonal,  the  psychological,  the  socio 
logical  terms,  but  it  would  not  do.  Probably  Elder 
^Nathaniel  felt  his  inattention,  of  which  Kelwyn  him 
self  was  hardly  aware,  for  presently  he  sat  up  on  the 
grass,  and  presently  he  went  away,  as  Kelwyn  sus 
pected,  with  an  obscure  pang,  sooner  than  he  had 
meant  to  go.  He  watched  the  Shaker's  quaint  bowed 
figure  down  the  road,  and  then  he  went  in-doors  to  his 
wife,  whose  name  he  called  before  him,  as  if  impatient 
to  speak  with  her. 

113 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Parthenope,  with  the  two  boys,  had  wandered  an 
other  way,  and  found  herself  going  in  the  direction  of 
a  little  roadside  school  -  house  which  she  had  already 
noticed  in  her  rambles.  When  they  came  up  to  it  she 
saw  some  wagons  and  buggies  hitched  to  the  nearest 
trees  and  fence-posts,  and  she  was  sensible  of  some  un 
wonted  commotion  in  the  simple  place.  As  she  hesi 
tated  before  the  door  she  heard  voices  unlike  those 
of  the  routine  recitations,  and  she  saw  the  room  fairly 
filled  with  people  in  hats  and  bonnets  who  were  clearly 
visitors.  A  pretty  girl  of  her  own  age,  with  locks 
matching  the  gold  fillings  in  her  teeth  which  showed 
when  she  smiled  sweetly  upon  Parthenope,  came  to  the 
door. 

"  Won't  you  come  in  ?"  she  said.  "  We're  having 
our  examinations  for  the  end  of  the  term,  and  the 
School  Committee  are  conducting  them  just  now.  I'm 
the  teacher.  I  should  be  much  pleased  to  have  you 


come  in." 


She  spoke  with  a  little  stiffness  in  her  dignity  which 
Parthenope  found  charming,  and,  after  looking  round 
at  the  eager  faces  of  the  boys,  she  said,  "  Oh,  thank 
you,"  and  went  in  toward  the  seats  against  the  wall 
to  which  the  teacher  led  her. 

"  We  are  pretty  nearly  through  with  the  examina 
tions,"  the  teacher  whispered,  "  and  we  are  going  to 
have  a  little  scene — I  don't  know  what  to  call  it  ex 
actly — something  that  the  boys  are  going  to  represent. 
The  young  lady  who  is  examining  the  children  now  is 
the  first  lady  we  have  ever  had  elected  on  the  School 
Committee  here,  and  we  think  she's  splendid." 

The  teacher  nodded  sweetly  to  Parthenope,  and  went 
forward  to  the  platform  where  the  school  committee- 
girl  sat  with  two  committee-men,  and  took  her  place  be 
side  her.  Parthenope  thought  them  interesting  con- 

114 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

trasts — tHe  pretty  teacher,  slender  and  erect  and  smil 
ing  on  all  with  birdlike  turns  of  her  little  head,  and  the 
committee-girl,  to  whom  she  seemed  willingly  subor 
dinated,  with  close-cropped  hair  and  a  large-buttoned, 
loose  jacket,  wanting  only  the  bifurcation  of  her  plain 
skirt  to  seem  a  square  -  shouldered,  short  young  man. 
She  had  a  quick,  useful,  businesslike  face,  and  she  put 
with  such  force  and  distinctness  the  questions  she  had 
to  ask  in  geography  and  arithmetic  as  to  bring  out 
what  was  best  in  the  twenty-five  or  thirty  children, 
mostly  boys,  answering  from  their  regulation  public- 
school  desks,  or  working  out  the  sums  set  them  on  the 
breadth  of  black-painted  wall  at  the  end  of  the  room. 

The  place  was  garlanded  with  ground-pine  caught 
up  with  knots  and  branches  of  the  pink  and  white 
laurel  still  billowing  the  woods  with  their  bloom.  In 
the  brief  intermission  which  now  followed  the  visitors 
talked  together  in  low  tones,  and  admired  the  decora 
tions  till  the  teacher  rapped  authoritatively  upon  her 
desk  and  said,  "  The  scene  we  are  going  to  have  is  out 
of  the  tragedy  of  Eollo.  I  don't  know  as  you've  ever 
read  it,"  the  teacher  added,  in  a  low  murmur,  to  Par- 
thenope,  to  whom  she  seemed  to  attach  herself  in  a 
special  hospitality,  perhaps  because  they  were  both  girls, 
and  both  young.  "  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I've  read  it 
all  myself,"  she  hurried  on,  cutting  herself  short  as 
two  of  the  larger  boys  came  out  on  the  platform  from 
some  room  behind  it,  and  in  their  imagined  costumes 
of  ancient  Peruvian  and  mediaeval  Castilian  began  their 
dialogue. 

"  Inform  me,  friend,,  is  *Alonso,  the  Peruvian,  con 
fined  in  this  dungeon  ?" 

"He  is." 

"  What  is  his  fate?" 

"  He  dies  at  sunrise" 

115 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

They  went  on  with  tEe  passages  whicH  school-boys 
for  a  hundred  years  have  recited  upon  like  occasions, 
and  then,  with  awkward  bows  to  their  audience,  bumped 
one  another  out  of  the  door  by  which  they  had  entered. 

The  teacher  rose  and  said,  "  If  any  of  the  friends 
would  like  to  offer  remarks,  we  should  be  pleased  to 
have  them." 

For  a  while  no  one  stirred  in  response.  Then,  with 
a  slight,  nervous  clearing  of  the  throat,  Emerance  got 
to  his  feet  in  the  place  where  Parthenope  had  all  the 
time  been  subliminally  aware  he  was  sitting.  She 
thought  his  thin,  conscientious  face,  narrowing  from 
the  cheek-bones  to  the  chin,  which  he  fingered  with 
the  gesture  somehow  very  familiar  to  her,  was  beauti 
ful,  and  his  figure,  supported  by  one  hand  on  the  top 
of  the  chair  before  him,  had  grace  in  spite  of  its  lean 
angularity. 

"  I  should  like,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  to  have  those 
boys  come  back  a  moment." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  the  teacher  answered,  in  a  tone 
not  so  acquiescent  as  her  words.  She  looked  at  the 
committee-girl  as  if  referring  the  matter  to  her,  and 
at  a  nod  from  her  she  went  to  the  door  and  returned 
with  the  Peruvian  and  the  Oastilian,  hurriedly  re 
habilitated  as  to  their  costume  and  clearly  much  mys 
tified. 

"  Now,  boys,"  Emerance  briskly  accosted  them,  "  you 
did  that  scene  very  well,  in  the  way  it  has  always  been 
done.  You  had  your  parts  perfectly,  and  you  conveyed 
the  sense.  But  now  I  want  you  to  think  how  you  would 
have  spoken  and  acted  if  you  had  really  been  the  friend 
of  a  man  who  was  going  to  be  put  to  death  to-morrow 
morning,  and  the  guard  of  his  prison,  who  respected  and 
pitied  him.  Then  I  want  you  to  do  it  just  as  you  feel 
it.  Do  you  think  you  can  ?" 

116 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  I  don't  believe  we  can,"  the  friend  of  Alonso  con 
fessed. 

"  ISFobody  could  do  it  that  way,"  the  Spanish  sentinel 
was  sure. 

"  Well,  let's  try,"  Emerance  persisted.  "  Just  do  it 
as  you  think  two  boys  would  do  it." 

"  Boys  wouldn't  talk  that  way,"  one  of  them  said. 
"  If  a  fellow  was  to  say,  '  Inform  me,  friend,'  the  rest 
would  say  he  was  a  fool." 

The  other  boy  explained,  "  It's  poetry ;  or,  anyway, 
elocution." 

"  Oh,  it's  elocution,  I  know.  I'm  not  sure  it's 
poetry,"  Emerance  said.  "  But  try  it  in  the  prose 
that  boys  talk." 

The  boys  grinned  and  looked  at  the  teacher,  who  re 
ferred  their  glance  to  the  committee-girl.  She  said :  "  I 
should  like  to  have  you  try,  boys.  You're  not  obliged 
to  if  you  don't  wish." 

The  Castilian  answered  for  himself  and  the  other: 
"  We  couldn't  do  it,  Miss  Grove.  Somebody  would 
have  to  put  it  in  common  talk  for  us,  and  then  maybe 
we  could  get  it  by  heart  and  say  it.  But  we  couldn't 
turn  it  into  that  kind  of  talk  ourselves,  right  here  be 
fore  you.  It  would  be  ridic'lous." 

The  committee  -  girl  in  her  turn  passed  the  mat 
ter  with  a  glance  to  Emerance,  who  said :  "  You're 
quite  right,  my  boy.  The  fault  is  in  the  man  who 
wrote  the  piece.  He  had  a  bit  of  nature  to  express, 
but  he  couldn't  do  it  naturally.  It  isn't  reasonable  to 
expect  you  to  improve  on  him  offhand." 

He  sat  down,  and  the  teacher  murmured  to  Par- 
thenope,  "  How  very  strange !"  After  a  blank  hesita 
tion  throughout  the  room,  she  rose  and  said :  "  If  no 
one  else  has  any  remarks  to  offer,  the  exercises  are 
concluded.  Children,  you  must  all  be  here  in  your 

117 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

places  September  15tK;  at  nine  o'clock.  Now  you  are 
dismissed." 

The  little  assembly  dispersed  with,  difficulty.  Among 
the  visitors  every  one  was  talking  about  the  recent 
occurrence,  with  looks  at  Emerance,  whom  they  left 
apart.  The  boys  and  girls  made  their  way  out,  and 
their  mocking  shouts  and  laughter  were  heard  from 
the  road  as  they  ran  away  in  their  different  di 
rections. 

"  What  is  his  fate  ?"  "  He  dies  at  sunrise."  "  Say 
it  in  boy-talk!"  one  of  the  boys  called  far  off,  and 
jeers  came  back  with  hysterical  shrieks  from  the  girls. 
But  the  tumult  had  died  away  when  Parthenope  found 
herself  outside  with  the  two  Kelwyns  and  confronted 
with  Emerance's  absent-minded  looks.  She  was  not 
sure  that  his  part  in  the  incident  had  been  altogether 
dignified.  Perhaps  that  was  because  it  had  apparently 
brought  him  into  ridicule  with  these  boys;  but  she 
resented  the  ridicule  for  him,  and  what  Emerance  had 
said  interested  her.  She  would  like  to  talk  with  him 
about  it  and  convince  him  that  his  point  of  view  was 
not  artistic;  there  was  the  ideal  to  be  considered  in 
everything,  and  there  were  other  points  which  she  be 
lieved  he  had  not  considered  as  much  as  she  had.  But 
this  went  out  of  her  mind  when  he  spoke. 

"  Why,  I  didn't  know  you  were  here !"  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  pleasure  that  imparted  itself  to  her. 

She  put  out  her  hand,  and  he  clasped  it  eagerly. 
"  Yes,  I  was  there  near  the  teacher.  I  didn't  see  you 
till  you  rose."  She  felt  that  she  ought  to  have  said 
"  quite  see  you,"  but  it  was  too  late,  now. 

"  Are  you  going  home  ?  May  I  go  with  you  ?"  he 
asked,  and  she  felt  herself  singled  out  for  public  notice 
by  his  acquaintance,  till  gradually  they  made  their  way 

through  the  crowd  and  up  the  road  together.     They 

118 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

found  a  good  many  strawberries  beside  the  walls,  and 
they  stopped  to  help  the  children  gather  them.  At  one 
place  he  got  over  the  wall  and  stripped  some  leaves 
from  a  wild-grape  vine,  which  she  pinned  together  with 
little  twigs  into  baskets  to  hold  the  berries.  While  he 
helped  her  fill  them  he  was  asking  her  about  the  people 
and  events  at  the  Family  house,  and  telling  her  about 
his  being  in  Boston.  It  had  been  very  hot,  there,  for 
several  days,  and  he  said  she  was  fortunate  to  be  in  the 
country,  out  of  it.  She  said  it  had  been  hot  in  the 
country,  too. 

It  was  her  chance  to  make  that  point  about  the  ideal, 
but  she  must  have  made  it  very  ineffectively,  for  he 
only  looked  dreamily  at  her  when  she  recurred,  abrupt 
ly  and,  she  felt,  awkwardly,  to  the  incident  in  the 
school-house. 

"  Yes,"  he  assented,  without  apparent  consciousness 
of  his  assent ;  "  it's  an  experiment  I  should  like  to  try. 
I've  thought  of  it  a  good  deal  in  my  teaching." 

"  What  experiment  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh !"  He  came  back  from  his  distance.  "  I 
haven't  touched  your  point.  But  the  experiment  I 
mean  is  the  attempt  to  teach  dramatically.  All  chil 
dren  delight  in  make-believe.  Why  shouldn't  they 
make-believe  with  facts  instead  of  fancies?" 

"  I  don't  believe  I  understand  you,"  Parthenope  said, 
awed  by  the  mystery,  but  still  authoritatively.  "  I 
don't  believe  you  could  apply  the  dramatic  method 
to  geography  or  arithmetic,  for  example." 

"  Don't  you  ?"  he  deferred ;  but  he  had  the  courage 
to  say :  "  Those  were  just  the  studies  in  which  I  thought 
it  could  be  best  employed:  a  commercial  transaction, 
on  any  large  or  small  scale,  with  buying  and  selling, 
and  the  necessary  figuring,  would  interest  the  children. 
Or  a  lot  of  them  coming  from  a  far  country  or  from 

119 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

round  the  world,  and  looking  up  their  travels  on  maps 
and  globes.  Don't  you  see  ?" 

Parthenope  shook  her  head.  "  It  wouldn't  be  either 
good  playing  or  good  learning;  I'm  afraid  the  chil 
dren  would  care  more  for  the  fun  than  the  useful 
knowledge.  No,  Mr.  Emerance,  it  strikes  me  as  fan 
tastic." 

"  It  isn't,  it  isn't !"  he  protested.  "  I  can  convince 
you—" 

"  ~No,  no,"  she  laughed.  "  You  think  it's  practicable 
because  you  wish  to,  and  you  wish  to  because  you  care 
more  for  the  playing  than  for  the  teaching." 

"  If  I  believed  that —  You  throw  light  on  the  very 
point  that  has  been  pressing  itself  home  with  me. 
Sometimes  I  should  like  to  talk  it  all  out  with  you." 

"  Well,  there's  nothing  I  like  better  than  throwing 
light  on  points,"  she  said,  with  the  levity  with  which 
women  know  how  to  defer  situations  threatening  a 
premature  gravity. 

He  submitted,  and  they  climbed  back  over  the  wall. 
While  they  stood  waiting  for  the  boys  to  accomplish 
their  vainglorious  feat  of  getting  over  unhelped,  they 
heard  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  an  open  buggy  came 
round  a  turn  of  the  road.  There  were  two  women 
in  the  buggy  —  the  teacher  and  the  committee  -  girl. 
The  teacher  was  driving,  and  Parthenope  decided  that 
she  was  the  more  practical.  She  seemed  as  if  she  were 
not  going  to  stop  after  nodding  to  Parthenope,  who 
said,  "  Won't  you  have  some  strawberries  ?"  and  put 
up  the  leaf-basket  she  was  carrying,  to  the  open  but 
politely  silent  dismay  of  the  Kelwyn  boys.  "  You 
were  very  kind  to  me,"  she  added,  as  if  some  justi 
fication  were  necessary.  She  was  willing  that  her  su 
perior  breeding  should  make  itself  felt  in  a  superfluity 
of  gratitude. 

120 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"Whoa!"  the  teacher  called  to  her  horse.  "How 
beautiful  they  are !  Oh,  thank  you !  It  was  very  nice 
of  you  to  come  in.  We  like  to  have  people  come  to 
the  examinations." 

She  was  pleased,  but  if  she  was  impressed  by  Par- 
thenope's  politeness  she  was  not  suppressed. 

Emerance  went  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  buggy, 
which  began  to  move  on  again,  and  Parthenope,  through 
her  own  talk  with  the  teacher,  heard  the  committee- 
girl  saying :  "  I  was  very  much  interested  by  what 
you  said  to  the  boys.  I'm  afraid  it  wasn't  much  un 
derstood." 

"  I  didn't  expect  it  to  be  entirely,"  Emerance  an 
swered.  "  But  I  chose  to  take  my  chance.  We 
must  try  to  say  something  for  that  side  when  we 
can." 

"  Oh  yes,"  the  girl  agreed.  "  And  you  mustn't  be 
discouraged  by  me.  Perhaps  they  will  understand  it 
afterward."  But  she  seemed  a  little  shy  of  Emerance, 
as  a  queer  person  of  distinction,  and  she  added  to  the 
teacher,  "  ^elly,  I  guess  if  we  don't  hurry  we  shall 
be  late  for  tea." 

"  Well,  I  should  say  as  much!"  the  teacher  answered, 
gayly.  "  It  was  nearly  five  when  we  left  the  school, 
and  it's  full  five  now.  Well,  good  -  afternoon,"  she 
called  over  her  shoulder  to  Parthenope  when  the  horse 
had  started  forward  at  a  pull  of  the  reins. 

In  like  manner  the  committee  -  girl  called  back  to 
Emerance,  "  Well,  good-afternoon,"  and  he  and  Par 
thenope  called  after  them,  "  Good-bye." 

"  Those  are  very  able  girls.  They  are  both  going  to 
the  Centennial,  I  hear,"  he  said ;  and  though  "  able 
girls  "  seemed  a  funny  phrase  to  Parthenope,  she  did 
not  rem'ark  on  it. 

"  Yes  ?"  she  prompted  him. 

121 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  I  went  in,"  lie  continued,  "  before  the  examina 
tions  began,  and  they  showed  me  some  of  the  children's 
work  in  drawings.  They  were  after  nature — leaves; 
and  there  were  geometrical  designs;  very  creditable. 
I  thought  their  pupils  were  well  forward  in  all  their 
studies ;  didn't  you  ?" 

"  I  only  got  in  for  the  '  scene/  "  Parthenope  an 
swered;  and  now  she  thought  he  would  tell  her  why 
he  had  been  so  particularly  interested  in  that.  But  he 
did  not.  He  only  said : 

"  The  committee  man — or  girl — said  there  used  to  be 
sixty  little  ones  in  that  school,  and  now  there  are  bare 
ly  half.  But  the  population  all  about  is  decreasing. 
It  makes  it  rather  melancholy,  don't  you  think,  to  find 
so  few  houses  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.  'And  in  the  woods  you  come  on  old 
chimneys  and  cellars  and  bits  of  garden.  I'm  afraid 
of  ghosts  when  I  see  them." 

"  They  are  the  ghosts,"  the  young  man  said. 

Parthenope  had  been  deciding  that  Emerance  would 
not  have  talked  so  exclusively  to  the  committee  -  girl 
and  now  so  much  more  of  her  if  his  mind  had  not  been 
on  the  pretty  teacher.  She  was  pretty;  Parthenope 
was  not  going  to  hide  it  from  herself,  and,  indeed,  she 
did  not  know  why  she  should. 

She  recurred  to  the  teacher  openly :  "  I've  been  try 
ing  to  think  whether  her  rivalling  the  morning  hour, 
with  all  that  gold  in  her  mouth,  is  disfiguring  or  not. 
Perhaps  it's  charming,  or  makes  her  the  more  charm- 
ing." 

Emerance  gave  her  a  candid  stare. 

"  Oh !  You  haven't  followed  my  leaps  and  bounds 
back  to  that  pretty  teacher,"  she  exulted,  without  know 
ing  she  exulted,  and  in  her  joy  she  had  strength  to 

demand,  "  What  is  that  point  you  want  the  light  of 

122 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

wisdom  on?"     But  again  she  saw  that  Emerance  had 
not  followed  her. 

When  he  did  arrive,  with  a  man's  successive  steps, 
he  said :  "  Oh !  Perhaps  I  should  have  to  talk  too 
much  about  myself." 

"  I  can  understand  why  you  should  hate  that. 
There's  nothing  I  dislike  so  much.  But  I  should 
like  to  hear  when  you're  ready." 

"  I  sha'n't  forget  your  promise/'  he  said. 

"  And  I,"  she  challenged  him,  "  shouldn't  mind  keep 
ing  it  at  once." 

He  hesitated,  and  then  he  said,  thoughtfully,  "  It's 
always  a  question  how  much  good  you  can  do  by  inter 
fering  with  people  when  you  find  them  going  wrong." 

"  Like  those  boys,  you  mean  ?  If  you  want  me  to 
be  perfectly  frank,  Mr.  Emerance,  I  think  there  were 
two  chances  of  being  absurd  to  one  of  being  useful  in 
that  case." 

"  And  you  thought  me  absurd  ?" 

"  I  didn't  say  that ;  I  say  you  took  the  chances." 

"  And  one  ought  never  to  take  such  chances  ?" 

"  I  didn't  say  that,  either."  She  stiffened  a  little 
at  his  pursuit. 

"  But  you  think  one  oughtn't  to  act  on  impulse  ?" 

"  I  can  only  say  for  myself,"  she  returned,  "  that  / 
never  do."  She  remembered  the  incident  of  giving 
the  coffee  to  the  bear  in  time  to  save  herself.  "  That  is, 
I  never  do  as  a  rule.  And  I  believe  it's  the  only  safe 
rule.  One's  impulse  may  turn  out  inspiration,  but  it's 
taking  chances,  and  one  oughtn't  to  take  chances. 
That's  gambling!"  Having  levelled  him  with  the 
dust,  she  relented  from  her  superiority  gently,  almost 
tenderly.  Certainly  she  relented  encouragingly  in  ask 
ing,  "Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way,"  he  owned. 
9  i23 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Well/'  she  conceded,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  ever 
did  myself.  But  I  can  look  back  and  see  that  I  must 
always  have  been  governed  by  some  such  principle, 
and  if  that  is  so,  oughtn't  you  to  regard  impulse  as 
something  coming  within  the  region  of  ethics  ?  Ought 
n't  you  to  regard  it  as  immoral?"  Parthenope  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  posing  girls  with  this  sort  of  talk. 
But  in  her  heart  it  rather  surprised  her  that  she  should 
have  posed  a  young  man  by  it  when  Emerance  said: 

"  I  should  like  to  think  the  point  over.  I  shouldn't 
like  to  assent  to  it — it's  interesting — on  impulse." 

"  Oh  no,"  she  returned,  with  bright  tolerance.  Then 
she  did  not  know  but  he  was  making  fun  of  her. 


XVI 

MRS.  KITE,  sitting  at  her  door  in  the  long  leisure 
of  the  summer  afternoon,  called  to  Parthenope  as  she 
came  round  the  corner  of  the  house  with  Emerance 
and  the  boys:  "  Your  folks  have  gone  to  the  village  to 
get  some  baker's  bread.  I  forgot  to  set  mine  last  night. 
Why,  Mr.  Emerance !  When  did  you  get  back  ?"  She 
came  gracefully  forward  to  meet  him,  and  he  took  off 
his  hat  to  her  as  they  shook  hands. 

"  This  morning.  I  hope  you're  all  well,  Mrs. 
Kite." 

"  I  guess  we're  always  well,"  she  tinkled  back. 
"  Mr.  Kite  will  be  glad  to  see  you ;  and  Kaney  and 
Albert,  too." 

"Has  Mr.  Kite  got  any  work  for  me?"  Emerance 
asked,  laughing. 

^  I  don't  know  as  he  has.  But  you  better  stay  to 
supper  and  ask." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Kite,"  Parthenope  interposed,  with  an 
impulse  from  her  old  indignation  at  her  cousins'  in- 
hospitality  to  Emerance,  "  he's  engaged  to  take  supper 
with  us" 

"  All  right,"  Mrs.  Kite  easily  assented ;  "  first  come, 
first  served.  I  don't  know  as  I  have  got  very  much  to 
offer  visitors  this  evening." 

Emerance  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a 
troubled  countenance.  Mrs.  Kite  turned  away,  smiling 
contentedly,  and  Parthenope  from  her  doorstep,  as  she 
sank  down  on  it,  asked,  easily,  from  her  satisfied  su- 

125 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

periority,  "Won't  you  have  a  threshold,  Mr.  Emer- 
ance  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  thank  you."  He  took  his  place  on  the 
wide  stone  lintel  and  faced  her  from  the  door -jamb 
opposite  that  against  which  she  leaned,  with  the  trouble 
still  in  his  eyes. 

She  laughed  with  sudden  misgiving.  "  You  didn't 
like  my  implying  that  I  had  asked  you  to  stay  al 
ready?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  that.  I  liked  it  well  enough ; 
but  that  is  one  of  the  things  I  am  uncertain  about." 

The  two  boys  came  to  the  girl's  knee  and  asked,  suc 
cessively,  "  May  we  go  and  play  with  Arthur  ?" 

"  Yes,  run  along,"  she  consented,  and  when  the  boys 
ran  along,  in  that  order  of  their  years  which  regulated 
their  whole  lives,  she  pressed  her  question. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  answered,  "  about  the  Shakers. 
They  have  the  perpetual  comfort  of  saying  the  thing 
that  is." 

"  And  not  even  implying  the  thing  that  is  not  ?" 
she  pursued  him,  in  his  reluctance. 

"  Now  you  are  too  hard  on  me !    I  didn't  mean  to — " 

"  Let  me  see  what  you  were  thinking  ?  I  know  you 
didn't.  But  isn't  there  such  a  thing  as  carrying  the 
truth  too  far?  I  believe  you  often  hurt  people's  feel 
ings  by  that,  and  cruelty  is  as  bad  as  fibbing.  Worse." 

"  The  Shakers  never  hurt  people's  feelings ;  they  are 
never  cruel." 

"  Why  don't  you  join  them,  then  ?" 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  that  is  a  hard  question." 

"  Then  you  are  quibbling  as  badly  as  I  was."  He 
looked  at  her  with  a  knot  of  mystification  between  his 
brows.  Suddenly  she  started  forward.  "  What  in  the 
world  is  that  ?" 

He  glanced  round  over  his  shoulder,  and  then  rose, 

126 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  more  fully  to  take  in  the  apparition.  rA  large  van, 
drawn  by  two  horses,  was  coming  up  the  road  out  of  the 
shelter  of  the  woods,  and  as  it  drew  nearer  it  showed, 
gayly  painted,  a  framework  of  wood  under  a  dark 
tenting  of  oilcloth,  all  in  very  good  repair,  and  with 
a  certain  consciousness  of  state  in  its  leisurely  advance. 
"  It  looks,"  Emerance  said,  absently,  "  like  a  circus- 
wagon  strayed  or  stolen." 

"  No,"  Parthenope  exulted,  getting  to  her  feet,  "  it's 
a  gypsy -van.  Where  are  the  boys?  They  mustn't 
miss  it." 

They  had  not  missed  it.  They  had  followed  it  out 
of  the  shadow  of  the  woods,  and  Arthur  Kite,  who  was 
with  them,  was  already  testing  the  temper  of  the 
swarthy  men  and  of  the  three  dogs  which  had  accom 
panied  it,  a  dog  on  either  side,  and  another  dog  keeping 
sullenly  under  it. 

The  van  stopped  before  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Kite 
came  out  to  welcome  it.  Because  she  did  so,  perhaps, 
Parthenope  remained  standing  on  her  threshold,  with 
Emerance  below  her.  "  You  want  to  come  and  see  how 
nice  it  is  inside,"  Mrs.  Kite  called  to  them.  "  It's  a 
regular  room." 

But  Parthenope  sat  down  again,  and  from  the  back 
door  of  the  van  the  figure  of  a  large,  elderly  woman 
descended  and  came  toward  her.  She  was  very  dark, 
with  coal-black  eyes  and  coal-black  hair  turning  ashen. 
She  wore  a  flowing  dress  of  white  with  a  green  calash 
bonnet,  and  a  green  barbaric  scarf  loosely  twisted  round 
her  neck;  yet  higher  on  her  throat  she  had  a  deep 
necklace  of  branchy  coral,  and  she  bore  a  various  bur 
den  of  baskets  and  trays  of  laces,  cheap  jewels,  combs, 
brushes,  soaps,  and  many  knickknacks.  Without  speak 
ing,  she  first  spread  her  treasures  on  the  grass,  and 
when  she  had  disposed  of  them  in  a  glittering  array, 

127, 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

to  which  her  eyes  and  her  white  teeth  and  the  jewels 
in  her  ears  gleamed  responsive,  she  invited  the  pretty 
miss  to  buy,  squatting  behind  her  wares  and  hugging 
her  knees  with  hands  which  she  detached  now  and  then 
to  take  up  the  beads,  or  the  machine  laces  which  she 
pretended  to  have  made  herself,  and  dangling  them  be 
fore  the  girl.  As  she  offered  them  she  talked,  answer 
ing  willingly  enough,  at  the  young  man's  prompting, 
that  she  had  lived  twenty  years  in  Canada,  and  had 
come  from  England,  and  this  was  her  first  trip  in  the 
United  States.  She  was  quite  patient  of  Parthenope's 
refusals  to  buy,  and  said :  "  Look  into  our  wagon, 
miss.  My  granddaughter  is  there;  she  will  read  your 
hand." 

"  Your  granddaughter  ?"  Parthenope  answered. 
"  Don't  you  want  to  look  in  ?"  she  turned  to  Emer- 
ance,  as  if  to  justify  her  own  weakness  by  his  yield 
ing,  too. 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  assented,  following  her  quick  flight 
from  the  doorway  to  the  van. 

It  was  luxuriously  appointed,  with  cushioned  seats, 
cotton  lace  curtains,  and  mirrors.  A  comfortable  bed 
was  set  crosswise  of  the  rear,  and  on  the  thickly 
rugged  floor,  with  her  back  to  a  frowzy  boy  on  the 
front  seat,  crouched  a  lazy-eyed  little  maid,  with  her 
feet  drawn  close  up  under  her.  While  the  boy  spoke 
now  and  then  to  the  dogs  in  his  Romany,  she  answered 
Emerance's  questions  in  indifferent  but  not  unamiable 
composure,  to  the  effect  chiefly  that  she  was  sixteen 
years  old,  and  the  wagon  cost  five  hundred  dollars,  and 
her  father  dealt  in  horses.  The  man  had  untethered 
two  colts  from  the  tail  of  the  wagon,  and,  holding  by 
their  halter  -  ropes,  was  letting  them  graze  beside  it. 
The  old  woman  pressed  toward  the  door  with  her  trays 
and  baskets.  "  Let  her  tell  your  fortune,  my  pretty 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

young  lady.  She  knows  the  stars.  She  has  got  charms, 
and  if  there's  anything  bad  in  your  stars  the  charm 
will  make  it  all  right.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  I  can 
see  by  looking  at  you  that  you  will  be  very  happy." 

The  gypsy  girl  rose  and  came  nearer.  "  You  must 
put  out  your  hand/'  she  bade  Parthenope,  who  glanced 
at  Emerance's  grave  face,  in  which  she  read  misgiving. 
She  perversely  put  out  her  hand  in  resentment  of  his 
tacit  interference. 

The  gypsy  studied  it.  "  You  will  be  married,  and 
your  husband  will  be  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  gray  eyes 
and  light  hair."  Parthenope  was  conscious  of  the  im 
pudent  portraiture  of  Emerance,  but  he  seemed  not 
to  recognize  it.  "  You  will  have  to  look  out,  because 
he  will  be  very  strong-willed,  and  you  are  set  in  your 
ways,  too.  You  will  quarrel  and  you  will  want  to 
part,  but  you  will  make  it  up  and  live  happy.  He 
will  die  before  you  do,  but  so  old  you  won't  want  to 
marry  again.  Fifty  cents." 

The  demand  came  like  a  part  of  the  prediction,  and 
it  was  a  moment  before  Parthenope  realized  her  in 
debtedness.  At  the  same  time,  she  realized  her  in 
solvency  with  an  alarm  that  extorted  from  her  the 
cry,  "  But  I  haven't  any  money !" 

She  had  given  her  money  to  Kelwyn  for  safe-keeping 
on  her  arrival,  going  to  him  for  her  small  occasions. 
Now  he  was  away,  and  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Kelwyn 
had  no  change  lying  about. 

"  You  can  borrow  it,  pretty  lady,"  the  old  gypsy 
urged,  caressingly.  The  girl  crept  back  to  her  place 
and  lounged  there,  looking  at  Parthenope  with  a  smile 
of  indifference. 

"  I  will  ask  Mrs.  Kite  for  the  money,"  Parthenope 
said.  But  she  came  back  from  her  errand  rueful. 
"  The  landlady's  husband  is  away.  But  my  cousin, 

129 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

tvho  has  my  money,  will  be  back  soon  from  the  village 
and  I  will  pay  you." 

The  old  woman  said  something  in  Romany  to  the 
man  with  the  colts ;  he  answered  gruffly.  "  He  says 
we  have  got  to  go  now;  we  can't  wait.  The  charm 
comes  for  the  fifty  cents,  too;  it  will  keep  the  quarrel 
from  being  bad." 

Emerance  stood  silently  looking  on.  "Mr.  Emer- 
ance,"  Parthenope  said,  desperately,  "  will  you  lend  me 
fifty  cents  till  my  cousins  come  back  ?  I  have  been  very 
foolish  and  I  am  ashamed.  But — " 

She  stopped  at  a  look  of  dismay  in  his  face  as  great 
as  her  own.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he  began.  "  Very  gladly, 
if—" 

He  was  feeling  in  his  pockets,  one  after  another — 
those  eight  or  ten  pockets  with  which  his  clothes  seemed 
so  needlessly  equipped.  It  was  still  the  day  of  frac 
tional  currency,  and  from  one  pocket  he  brought  forth 
a  small  wad  of  greenish  paper  worth  twenty-five  cents ; 
from  another  a  ten-cent  note,  and  from  yet  another  two 
five-cent  notes;  it  was  apparently  all  his  store,  but  a 
desperate  search  revealed  a  lurking  nickel,  and  the 
sum  was  made  up  and  put  into  the  palm  of  the  gypsy, 
which,  it  seemed  to  Parthenope,  had  been  stretched 
out  all  the  time.  They  both  drew  a  great  sigh. 

The  gypsy  smiled.  "  Have  your  fortune  told,  too, 
gentleman !" 

"  Thank  you,"  Emerance  replied ;  "  I  can't  afford 
it." 

As  they  walked  back  to  their  place  on  the  threshold, 
Parthenope,  with  her  face  averse,  seemed  not  to  hear 
him  as  he  said,  "  I  will  never  try  that  again."  He 
went  on,  as  if  philosophically  interested  in  his  explana 
tion  :  "  I  had  the  notion  of  bringing  no  money  with 
me  and  frankly  living  on  what  I  could  earn  by  any 

130 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

work  I  happened  to  pick  up.  But  it  won't  answer. 
It's  too  much  like  living  off  the  country,  as  the  tramps 
do." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  have  been  living  off  the  coun 
try — like  a  tramp.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Emerance,"  and 
she  faced  him  flushed  with  a  resentment  that  she  knew 
was  not  real. 

Apparently  he  knew  it,  too,  for  he  was  not  abashed. 
"  You  don't  mean  that,"  he  said,  simply. 

She  was  not  to  be  outdone  in  frankness,  if  it  came 
to  that.  "  ~No ;  I  said  it  because  I  was  ashamed  of 
my  stubbornness  and  heedlessness." 

He  protested,  "  Oh,  I  should  have  liked  to  try  it  my 
self  if  I  had  supposed  I  had  the  money,"  he  said. 

"  You  didn't  think  of  my  borrowing  of  you  ?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  think  of  that.  I'm  glad  I  had  it  to 
lend.  It  was  a  rather  narrow  escape." 

He  did  not  laugh,  as  Parthenope  now  thought  he 
might,  to  relieve  the  tension.  Perhaps  he  would  not 
feel  it  respectful  to  laugh,  and  that  was  nice  of  him. 
It  was  so  nice  that  it  encouraged  her  to  take  the  ag 
gressive  with  him  again.  "  You  seem  to  be  quite  in 
the  experimental  stage,"  she  mocked. 

"  I  like  to  try  things,  yes,"  he  assented.  "  Don't 
you?" 

"  Girls  mustn't.  rA  girl  couldn't  go  about  tEe  coun 
try  alone,  even  witK  her  pocket — if  she  had  one — full 
of  money.  I  don't  believe  that  the  Shakers  themselves 
would  take  in  a  destitute  girl  if  she  strayed  up  to  the 
Office  door.  Are  you  going  to  stay  with  them?" 

"  They  have  no  work  for  me.  I  am  going  to  ask 
Mr.  Kite  for  farm-work,  and  then,  if  he  has  none  for 
me,  I  shall  inquire  round  among  the  other  farmers." 

Women  like  to  take  liberties  with  spirits  that  they 
feel  they  can  trust  any  lengths,  and  Parthenope  now 

131 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

abandoned  herself  to  the  opportunity.  "  Shall  you 
tell  them  you  can  sleep  in  the  barn  ?" 

"  I  wouldn't  specify  it,"  Emerance  returned  from 
the  gravity  which  he  had  put  on.  "  But  I  would  rather 
sleep  in  some  of  their  barns  than  some  of  their  bed 
rooms.  There's  more  air." 

She  came  to  him  from  another  point :  "  I  thought 
you  were  going  to  start  a  cooking-school  for  summer 
boarders." 

"  Yes ;  I  should  really  like  to  do  that,  but  I  haven't 
found  the  right  place." 

"  You  might,"  she  went  on,  "  get  the  Shakers  to  give 
you  a  room  and  invite  the  country  people  in  to  learn. 
Only  they  wouldn't  come.  No,  you  must  begin  with 
summer  boarders.  Why  don't  you  go  down  to  Elli 
son,  below  here  ?  There  are  lots  of  summer  boarders 
there.  But  I  believe  you  want  to  get  them  in  a  camp 
where  they  won't  have  anything  to  eat  but  what  you 
give  them.  Well,  the  Shaker  woods,  here,  are  big 
enough  for  a  camp,  and  they  would  lend  them  to  you." 

He  fell  in  with  her  joking:  "The  difficulty  would 
be  to  get  the  summer  boarders  to  camp;  that  would 
be  harder  than  getting  them  to  cook." 

"  Y'es,  but  if  you  like  to  try  things !  Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  expect  to  go  experimenting  through 
life?"  she  said,  reverting  to  a  former  point. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  I  expect." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  the  first  thing  is  to  have  a 
definite  ideal,"  Parthenope  urged,  with  a  New  England 
ideal  indefinitely  coming  to  the  top  in  her  speech. 

"  I'm  not  sure.  But  how  can  you  have  a  definite 
ideal  without  experimenting  for  it?" 

"  You  can  think  it  out  beforehand.  Nothing  was 
ever  accomplished  without  a  high  ideal."  When  she 
had  said  this  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  not  absolutely 

132 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

true.  So  she  hedged :  "  Of  course  there  are  a  great 
many  good  things  that  one  does  from  the  impulse  of 
the  moment.  But  could  you  have  that  impulse  without 
having  the  ideal  ?" 

He  did  not  answer  directly.  "  I  think  you  would 
have  to  experiment  for  a  definite  ideal." 

"  ISTo,  you  say  that  because  you  like  experimenting. 
You  said  so  yourself,  or  the  same  as  said." 

"  Yes,  I  do  like  it.  That's  what  makes  life  inter 
esting.  It's  all  an  experiment — life  is." 

"Yes,  and  when  you  come  to  the  end  of  life" — in 
her  twenty-seventh  year  this  seemed  to  her  still  ages 
away — "  you  have  your  experiment  for  your  pains." 

"  But  you  have  been  interested  all  the  time." 

"I  call  that  pagan."  She  did  not  know  why  she 
called  it  so,  but  her  words  sounded  convincing  to  her. 

"I'm  not  sure  the  pagans  were  always  wrong,"  he 
said. 

"  They  were  wrong  in  the  essentials,"  she  decided. 

"  Were  they  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  doesn't  make  them  right  to  ask  if  they  were." 

They  talked  of  various  things,  which  she  was  always 
bringing  back  to  the  concrete,  to  herself  and  to  him, 
when  he  had  got  them  well  away  in  the  abstract.  She 
had  escaped  from  a  great  embarrassment,  but  she  was 
not  satisfied  with  her  escape;  she  must  somehow  turn 
it  into  a  triumph  over  him,  but  it  was  difficult,  and 
there  were  phases  of  the  situation  in  which  it  was  as 
yet  impossible.  This  Mr.  Emerance  was  certainly  a 
strange  being.  She  had  never  felt  before  so  much  as 
if  she  were  a  disembodied  spirit  communing  with  an 
other  disembodied  spirit,  and  she  caught  herself  in  a 
sigh  as  she  saw  the  top  of  the  wagon  which  held  the 
returning  Kelwyns  rising  above  the  swell  of  the  road 

from  the  hollow  toward  the  village. 

133 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

She  felt  a  subjective  drop  as  from  the  clouds,  but 
she  alighted  on  her  feet  and  ran  toward  them  in  the 
wagon,  where  before  either  of  the  Kelwyns  had  time 
to  speak  she  said :  "  I  want  you  to  give  me  fifty  cents, 
Cousin  Elmer.  I've  had  my  fortune  told,  and  Mr. 
Emerance  lent  it  to  me." 

Kelwyn  stared,  daunted  by  the  violently  fore 
shortened  facts,  but  his  wife  easily  grasped  them 
and  reached  the  vital  point — that  the  girl  was  fever 
ishly  happy,  and  that  it  was  doubtful  whether  she 
ought  to  be.  As  Emerance  was  slowly  making  his 
way  toward  them  she  explained  to  her  husband  that 
it  was  the  gypsies  whom  they  had  met,  and  that,  of 
course,  Parthenope  had  had  to  borrow  the  money  from 
Mr.  Emerance. 

She  ended,  to  Kelwyn's  still  clouded  intelligence, 
"  Give  it  to  her,  anyway,  Elmer,  and  I  will  tell  you 
about  it  afterward,"  and  with  that  he  got  the  money 
out  of  his  pocket  and  put  it  in  the  girl's  hand,  which 
had  been  outstretched  to  him. 

She  turned  and  gave  Emerance  the  fifty-cent  note. 
"  There  1"  she  said,  as  if  life,  which  was  all  experi 
ment,  could  have  had  no  more  triumphant  issue. 

He  asked  Mrs.  Kelwyn  if  he  could  not  help  Her  to 
get  her  purchases  out  of  the  wagon,  while  Kelwyn  re^ 
mained  holding  the  horse,  and  Parthenope  joined  him 
in  discharging  the  cargo. 

Mrs.  Kite  witnessed  their  activities  at  her  ease  from 
her  door  in  the  ell.  The  sight  of  her  seemed  to  re 
mind  Kelwyn  of  his  wrongs.  "  I  suppose  Kite  isn't 
anywhere  about,"  he  said.  "Well,  I  will  drive  the 
horse  into  the  barn  and  leave  him  there." 

"  Let  me  take  him,  Mr.  Kelwyn,"  the  young  man 
entreated,  putting  himself  at  the  horse's  head.  "  I'll 
unharness  the  old  fellow  and  give  him  his  hay." 

134 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Kelwyn  refused.  "  No,  I  shall  leave  him  in  the 
wagon.  It  will  be  a  lesson  to  them.  These  people 
are  getting  insufferable.  Kite  agreed  to  hitch  and  un 
hitch  the  horse  for  me  always,  but  half  the  time  I  have 
to  do  it  for  myself."  He  hesitated,  and  then  he  said 
to  the  young  man,  "  If  you  will  kindly  throw  the  barn 
doors  open,  however,  I  shall  be  greatly  obliged  to  you." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  Emerance  said,  and  he  walked 
ahead  toward  the  barn. 

Before  they  reached  it  the  barn-doors  were  slid  back 
from  within,  and  Raney  stood  in  the  open  space  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  disinterestedly  regarding  their 
progress.  When  they  mounted  the  incline  to  the  door 
way,  he  took  out  his  hands  and  said,  "  I  put  up  the 
horse,  Mr.  Kelwyn." 

"  Where  is  Kite  ?"  Kelwyn  asked,  in  reluctantly 
parting  with  his  grievance. 

"  I  put  up  your  horse,"  Raney  repeated,  non- 
committally. 


XVII 

WITH  the  reason  for  his  vexation,  Kelwyn's  vexation 
passed,  and  it  passed  the  more  quickly  for  finding  his 
wife  in  very  good  humor  when,  after  he  had  washed 
the  smell  of  the  leathern  reins  from  his  hands  and 
gone  about  the  house  looking  for  her,  he  discovered  her 
in  what  they  called  the  guest-chamber  putting  it  in 
the  order  it  was  idle  to  expect  from  Mrs.  Kite. 

"  Parthenope,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  explained,  "  is  in  the 
kitchen  with  Mrs.  Kite,  and  Mr.  Emerance  has  gone 
to  help  them.  He  is  going  to  stay  to  supper,  and  I 
shall  invite  him  to  stay  with  us  to-night;  it's  no  more 
than  is  due  to  ourselves." 

"  Yes,"  Kelwyn  assented ;  "  I  felt  shabby  about  our 
letting  him  go  before." 

"  It  would  have  been  forcing  it  if  we  had  kept  him," 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  evaded  the  point.  "  But  it's  pleasant  to 
be  able  to  make  it  up  to  him.  He  seems  really  nice." 

"  Yes,  but  we  know  nothing  more  about  him  than  we 
did  at  first." 

"  Oh  yes,  we  do.  Parthenope  found  him  at  the 
school  examination,  and  he  corrected  some  of  the  ex 
ercises.  He  is  cultivated,  in  a  way.  He  seems  to  have 
all  sorts  of  ideas,  she  says." 

"  Plenty  of  people  have  all  sorts  of  ideas,  my  dear." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  on  her  account  he  is  here  to  make 
another  evening  pass  agreeably.  It's  dull  for  her. 
She  thinks  he  behaved  very  delicately  about  lending 

her  the  money.     He  didn't  offer  to  lend  it.     And  it 

136 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

was  by  the  merest  chance  that  he  had  it.  He  was 
going  about,  expecting  to  live  bj  the  work  he  got  from, 
the  farmers.  I  don't  understand  it  exactly;  but  as 
long  as  he  doesn't  offer  to  borrow  money  himself — " 

"  Yes." 

The  supper  was  not  such  a  triumph  as  the  former 
supper  had  been,  or  perhaps  it  was  merely  not  such 
a  novelty.  Emerance  had  consented  to  be  Mrs.  Kel- 
wyn's  guest,  and  she  would  not  let  him  join  in  the  help 
that  Parthenope  offered  Mrs.  Kite  after  the  meal  was 
over.  Perhaps  because  it  lacked  the  former  inspiration 
of  an  open  fire,  or  perhaps  because  Kelwyn  was  tired, 
the  talk  languished,  and  presently  Emerance  made  an 
excuse  of  wishing  to  tell  Mrs.  Kite  something  about 
the  bread  for  breakfast,  and  left  the  Kelwyns.  He  must 
have  despatched  his  instructions  very  promptly,  for 
they  seemed  at  once  to  hear  him  talking  with  Par 
thenope  under  the  window  in  the  dry  summer  night. 

"  Well,  now,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  "  Parthenope  is 
being  amused,  I  am  sure.  Don't  you  think  he  is  really 
very  delicate-minded?" 

"  He  is  rather  vague-minded ;  but  he  may  be  delicate- 
minded,  too."  Kelwyn  took  that  tone  toward  his  guest 
because  he  had  found  it  well,  in  agreeing  with  his  wife 
about  people  they  both  liked,  to  let  her  do  most  of  the 
liking. 

In  the  morning  they  all  decided  to  go  to  the  Shaker 
meeting,  but  at  the  hour  when  they  were  to  start  Emer 
ance  failed  to  join  the  Kelwyns,  and  Parthenope  said 
she  would  go  and  look  for  him.  Mrs.  Kite  was  stand 
ing  at  her  door  dressed  for  the  meeting,  very  ladylike 
in  her  Sunday  gown  and  bonnet.  She  said  she  guessed 
Emerance  and  the  boys  were  out  in  the  barn,  and  Par 
thenope  pushed  on,  thanking  her.  In  the  barn  she  saw 

the  three  boys  through  the  open  door,  spellbound  by 

137 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

something  Mr.  Emerance  was  doing.  He  was  lifting 
a  pitchfork,  with  a  block  of  wood  stuck  on  its  tines,  to 
the  roof  of  the  barn,  where  there  was  a  cluster  of  swal 
lows'  nests.  He  lowered  it  a  little  and  then  pushed  it 
upward.  Something  fell  from  the  block  and  struck 
on  the  barn  floor  at  his  feet  like  a  small  piece  of  wet 
clay.  He  bent  over  it  with  a  sharp  "  Ah,  that's  too 
bad !"  while  the  boys  clustered  about  him.  "  Well,  we 
must  keep  on  trying/'  he  said,  and  he  put  the  thing, 
whatever  it  was,  back  on  the  block  and  lifted  it  again. 

Francy  Kelwyn  caught  sight  of  Parthenope  at  the 
barn-door  and  explained  to  her,  excitedly :  "  It's  a  little 
swallow,  and  it  fell  out  of  the  nest,  and  Mr.  Emerance 
is  putting  it  back  to  its  father  and  mother." 

The  parent  birds  were  wheeling  overhead  with  keen 
cries  of  anxiety,  and,  whether  it  was  their  interference 
or  the  sense  of  the  girl  looking  that  caused  the  young 
man's  aim  to  falter,  he  failed  again,  and  the  swallow 
fell  with  that  moist  thump  as  before.  He  took  it  up 
and  examined  it. 

She  came  in  and  joined  the  group.  "  It's  done  for," 
Emerance  said,  sadly,  and  she  rose  to  her  normal 
height  in  suggesting,  "  Perhaps  it's  been  experimented 
with  too  much." 

"  More  than  was  good  for  it,  anyway,"  he  assented. 
"  It's  certainly  dead.  I  ought  to  have  got  a  ladder." 

"Now,"  the  Kite  boy  exulted,  "we  will  have  fun 
burying  it." 

The  Kelwyn  boys,  attaching  themselves  on  either 
side  to  the  girl's  skirt,  implored  her,  "  Oh,  may  we 
have  fun  burying  it,  Cousin  Thennie  ?" 

"  !N"o,  no,"  she  answered,  severely,  shaking  them 
loose.  "  There  is  no  time  if  you  are  going  to  the 
Shaker  meeting  with  us." 

"  To  see  the  Shakers  dance?"    They  jumped  up  and 

138 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

down  with  clasped  hands  and  ran  out  before  her,  the 
Kite  boy  with  them.  He  was  not  asked  to  go  to  the 
meeting,  but  he  would  have  the  whole  fun  of  burying 
the  swallow  to  himself. 

Emerance's  mind  was  apparently  still  dwelling  on 
the  tragedy.  "  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  was  experi 
menting  recklessly  with  that  wretched  little  swallow. 
I  was  really  trying  to  befriend  it." 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  know,"  the  girl  said,  not  sure  that  she 
did  not  find  his  tenderness  a  little  weak.  "  But  the 
carryall  is  at  the  door,  and  my  cousins  are  in,  and  we 
shall  be  late—" 

It  was  rather  a  close  fit,  with  the  two  mfcn  in  front 
and  the  women  on  the  back  seat,  and  a  boy  wedged 
between  each  couple.  A  little  way  from  the  house 
they  overtook  Mrs.  Kite  walking.  Kelwyn  leaned  back 
toward  his  wife :  "  I  didn't  know  Mrs.  Kite  was  going. 
Do  you  think  we  ought — " 

"  By  no  means !  There  isn't  an  atom  of  room.  Be 
sides,  she  is  used  to  it  and  wouldn't  thank  us." 

A  distress  came  into  Emerance's  face.  "  Mrs.  Kel 
wyn,  I  wish  you  would  let  me." 

"  No,  indeed,  Mr.  Emerance.  I  have  my  reasons." 
She  frowned  mysteriously,  and  he  submitted  with  a 
sigh. 

The  meeting  was  a  large  one  that  day.  There  were  a 
number  of  visiting  Brothers  and  Sisters  from  another 
family,  and  one  of  the  Brothers,  a  noted  preacher, 
was  to  speak.  Whether  it  was  knowledge  of  this  fact 
or  not,  there  was  an  unusual  attendance  from  the  world- 
outside,  especially  of  summer-folks  from  Ellison.  The 
singing  was  uncommonly  brisk,  and  the  Kelwyn  boys 
had  their  reward  in  the  dancing.  After  the  Brothers 
and  Sisters  subsided  from  their  thrilling  march,  and 
sat  down  motionless,  with  their  large  handkerchiefs 
10  139 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

opened  napkinwise  on  their  knees,  the  boys  fell  asleep 
in  the  warm  air,  one  with  his  head  in  his  cousin's  lap, 
and  the  other  with  his  head  boring  into  his  mother's 
side. 

The  visiting  Brother  launched  into  his  discourse,  and 
it  proved  an  attack  on  the  earthly  order,  on  marriage 
and  giving  in  marriage.  He  prefaced  his  polemic  by 
telling  the  story  of  one  of  the  Brothers  lately  gathered 
in  at  his  village,  whose  conscience  had  not  been  at  ease 
in  the  earthly  order,  and  who  had  left  his  wife  and 
children  to  live  the  angelic  life  in  the  Family  there. 
The  kindred  on  both  sides  had  tried  to  prevent  him, 
and  had  thrown  all  the  social  and  legal  obstacles  they 
could  in  his  way.  The  story  was  the  inversion  of  some 
such  experience  as  the  effort  to  escape  from  the  com 
munity  into  the  world  might  have  been  if  it  had  been 
recounted  with  like  fervor  and  intensity.  The  preacher, 
a  large  man  with  a  double  chin  and  a  burly  paunch, 
praised  the  celibacy  of  the  Shakers,  and  denounced  mar 
riage  as  it  was  in  the  country  round.  "  Go  through 
the  graveyards,"  he  said,  "  and  read  the  records  on  the 
tombstones  of  the  delicate  females,  sometimes  two  or 
three,  the  wives  of  one  husband,  whose  lives  have  been 
sacrificed.  Look  at  the  large  families  of  children  that 
wore  their  mothers  out  and  grew  up  untrained  and  un 
educated."  He  did  not  see  how  any  sensible  man  or 
woman  could  hesitate  to  choose  the  better  part  and 
come  and  live,  as  that  new  Brother  was  living,  away 
from  the  world  and  its  snares  in  the  safety  of  the 
Shaker  home. 

He  seemed  bigoted  and  conceited,  but  he  gave  evi 
dence  of  sincerity. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  glanced  from  the  face  of  the  girl  beside 
her,  who  seemed  puzzled  rather  than  abashed  or  of 
fended,  and  then  let  her  eye  range  along  the  faces  of 

140 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  men  sitting  together  in  their  ranks  on  the  other 
side  of  the  house.  They  expressed  varying  degrees  of 
amusement,  but  no  very  deep  concern;  a  strong  indig 
nation  and  dissent  shone  from  the  faces  of  most  of  the 
women.  Emerance,  as  she  saw  him,  sat  still,  with  his 
face  fixed  in  a  sculpturesque  quiet  on  the  speaker.  He 
seemed  unconscious  of  him,  and  probably  he  had  early 
seized  some  thread  of  the  discourse  and  had  gone  into 
himself  with  it  where  he  was  no  longer  aware  of  what 
the  preacher  was  saying.  She  was  glad  to  see  that 
Kelwyn  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  get  up  and  pro 
test.  Some  of  the  Shaker  Brothers  seemed  troubled, 
but  the  death-masks  of  the  Sisters  wore  only  a  passive 
sadness,  as  if  they  were  oppressed  by  the  sense  of  a 
mystery  beyond  their  powers. 

When  Elder  Nathaniel  came  forward  and  said,  after 
the  preacher  sat  down,  "  The  meeting  is  dismissed," 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  woke  her  children  and  led  them  away, 
as  if  she  were  shaking  the  dust  off  her  feet  for  all 
three,  and  for  her  husband  and  her  cousin  as  well. 

Emerance  went  forward  to  unhitch  the  horse  from 
the  post  at  which  he  was  slumbering  as  sweetly  as  if 
he  had  been  indoors  and  had  gone  to  sleep  at  the  ser 
mon,  and  he  helped  Mrs.  Kelwyn  to  her  place.  He 
seemed  cheerful,  even  gay.  "  I  believe,"  he  said,  "  I 
am  going  to  walk  back  through  the  woods,"  and  at  this 
the  Kelwyn  boys,  who  had  not  yet  been  lifted  into  the 
wagon,  each  implored  their  mother,  "  Oh,  let  us  walk 
back  through  the  woods,  mamma !" 

"  Oh,  do  let  them,  Cousin  Carry,"  Parthenope  joined 
in  their  prayer. 

She  was  standing  by  the  wheel  with  them,  and  Em 
erance  challenged  her  with,  "  Why  don't  you  come, 
too?" 

"  I  hadn't  been  asked,"  she  answered. 

141 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Well,  neither  had  the  boys." 

"  I'm  not  a  boy." 

"  Oh,  then  I  ask  you." 

"  Shall  I,  Cousin  Carry  ?"  Parthenope  asked,  in 
feigned  subjection. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  as  if  the  subjection  were  real, 
"  Why,  certainly,"  and  the  young  man  and  young  girl, 
with  the  two  boys,  struck  into  a  wood-path  from  the 
road. 

Mrs.  Kite  overtook  the  halting  vehicle  with  a  modest 
effect  of  not  seeing  it,  but  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  might  as  well  suffer  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb, 
called  to  her,  "  Won't  you  let  us  take  you  home,  Mrs. 
Kite?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  Mrs.  Kite  replied,  with  a  ladylike 
acquiescence,  which  was  partly  temperamental  and 
partly  from  the  feeling  of  proprietorial  right  in  the 
vehicle.  She  climbed  to  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  side,  and  as 
Kelwyn  started  up  the  horse  she  said,  "  Elder 
Rufus  gave  it  to  us  married  folks  pretty  strong,  didn't 
he?" 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  answered  aloof,  "  I  thought  it  in  very 
poor  taste." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  The  more  you  see  of  the 
Shakers  the  more  you  think  there  is  something  to  what 
they  say.  I  don't  know  as  I  should  want  to  be  one 
of  them;  but,  the  way  I  look  at  a  couple  like  Tad 
Alison  and  his  wife,  I  don't  think  marriage  is  always 
such  a  great  success." 

"  I  don't  suppose,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  returned,  severely, 
"  that  life  among  the  Shakers  would  be  a  great  success 
if  the  men  were  drunkards  and  the  women  were  slat 
terns." 

Mrs.  Kite  laughed  with  smooth  cheerfulness.    "  Well, 

I  guess  that's  something  so."     She  did  not  apparently 

142 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

take  to  herself  the  reproach  of  slattern,  but  if  she  had 
done  so  she  would  still  have  been  secure  in  her  hus 
band's  one  most  conspicuous  virtue — he,  as  she  often 
said,  chewed  and  he  smoked,  but  he  never  touched  a 
drop. 


XVIII 

ON  their  way  home  by  the  road  which  they  had 
taken  with  Mrs.  Kite  the  Kelwyns  found  the  air  as 
sultry,  if  not  as  close,  as  it  had  been  in  the  Shaker 
meeting-house.  But  for  the  young  people  in  the  woods 
it  renewed  its  freshness  and  sweetness,  as  if  the  trees 
of  the  forest  had  drawn  it  in  deep  silent  breaths  from 
the  heart  of  the  earth  and  respired  it  from  their  leaves. 
The  boys  ran  before  the  girl  and  the  young  man  into 
the  shadow  and  then  ran  back  to  them,  and  again  ran 
forward  and  lagged  behind  them,  in  a  theory  of  going 
a  walk  which  is  common  to  dogs  and  boys. 

Parthenope  ,and  Emerance  found  themselves  in  a 
grass-grown  track  among  the  trees,  which  he  said  must 
have  been  a  wagon-road  for  hauling  out  the  timber 
when  the  forest  was  cut  twenty  years  before.  It  grew 
fainter  and  vaguer  as  they  advanced,  and  could  scarce 
ly  be  discerned  when  it  ended  in  what  had  been  a 
clearing,  but  was  now  grown  up  to  underbrush  and 
brambles,  with  here  and  there  an  old  apple-tree  looking 
scared  amid  the  wildings  round  it.  A  weedy  pit,  with 
the  brick  and  mortar  of  a  fallen  chimney  in  it,  was  the 
cellar  of  a  vanished  house,  and  near  this  pit  there 
yawned  suddenly  at  his  feet  a  well-hole,  like  a  cyclo- 
pean  eye,  with  the  sinister  gleam  of  water  far  down  in 
it.  He  called  to  Parthenope  to  keep  the  boys  back, 
and  hastened  to  cover  it  with  pieces  of  the  mouldering 
joists  and  boards  lying  about. 

144 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  That  gave  me  a  good  start,"  he  said.  "  I  wonder 
why  the  ruin  of  an  old  home  like  this  is  so  dreadful." 

"  You  said  that  such  ruins  were  ghosts." 

"Yes;  I  wonder  why  we  should  be  afraid  of  the 
dead,  anyway?  I  remember  that  after  my  father  died 
T  was  afraid  to  be  in  the  room  with  him,  though  he 
had  never  shown  me  anything  but  love  and  kindness 
all  my  life." 

"  I  can't  remember  my  father  at  all,"  the  girl  said. 
"  Or  my  mother,  either.  But  if  their  spirits  came  back 
and  told  me  who  they  were  I  don't  believe  I  should 
be  afraid  of  them." 

"  I  must  be  nearer  the  aboriginal  savage  and  his 
superstitions.  The  curious  thing  is  that  we  modern 
people  don't  believe  in  our  superstitions." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,  and  it  is  curious.  But  I  don't 
like  bad  signs.  If  that  gypsy  girl  had  told  my  fortune 
wrong,  it  would  have  made  me  miserable." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  should  have  minded  that,"  he 
said. 

They  talked  on,  noting  their  characteristic  likenesses 
and  unlikenesses  to  each  other,  sitting  on  a  rough-hewn 
log  that  had  once  been  the  threshold  of  the  house,  while 
the  boys  played  cautiously  about,  keeping  near  them,  as 
from  a  sense  of  the  loneliness  of  the  place. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  Emerance  asked,  at  a  tangent, 
"  that  if  this  were  the  ruin  of  a  Shaker  family  house 
it  would  be  creepy  ?" 

The  girl  reflected.  "  ISTo,  I  don't  suppose  it  would. 
They  seem  like  ghosts  now,  and  I  don't  believe  they 
would  want  to  haunt  any  place  after  they  had  got  done 
with  it.  Besides — I  don't  know  how  to  express  it  ex 
actly — their  life  wouldn't  have  gone  deep  enough  into 
it  to  keep  them  rooted." 

"  That's  very  interesting,"  Emerance  said,  an'd  he 

145 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

added,  "  Very  interesting,  indeed.    Does  their  life  seem 
so  superficial,  then  ?" 

"  Not  that,  exactly.  But  living  that  way  in  com 
mon,  it  seems  more  spread  out — thinner." 

"I  wonder  if  they  feel  that?"  he  mused.  "There 
is  something  in  what  you  say." 

'  You  oughtn't  to  make  fulsome  compliments,"  she 
said,  stealing  a  look  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  You're  surprised  that  I  can  think  at  all." 

"  Oh  no,  oh  no !  Merely  that — now  this  will  offend 
you  worse — that  you  care  to  think." 

"  That  doesn't  offend  me,  if  it  distinguishes  between 
me  and  other  girls.  I  don't  helieve  they  like  to  think. 
Do  men?" 

He  laughed.    "  "Not  usually." 

"  Well,  now,  I  am  going  to  think  very  boldly,"  she 
said,  and  as  he  looked  at  her  inquiringly  she  rose  and 
shook  some  clinging  bark  and  chips  from  her  skirt. 
"  I  think  we  shall  be  late  for  dinner  if  we  don't  hurry 
home." 

They  joined  in  a  light-hearted  laugh.  She  called  to 
the  boys,  and  they  all  struck  through  the  woods  into 
a  piece  of  pasture-land  beyond.  It  was  a  narrow  strip 
dividing  them  from  the  highway,  where  a  house  stood, 
with  a  woman  in  the  open  door  at  the  back  brushing 
out  her  long  hair.  She  saw  them  coming,  and  shouted 
to  them  to  look  out  or  they  would  be  mired  in  the 
swampy  ground  which  she  pointed  at  with  her  brush. 
She  beckoned  them  to  the  path  that  led  across  the 
pasture  to  her  house. 

"  It's  that  drunkard's,"  Parthenope  explained.  "  He 
lent  Mrs.  Kite  a  book,  an  old  novel,  and  I  read  the 
first  volume.  I  wonder  if  we  could  get  the  second." 

"  We  might  try,"  xEmerance  suggested. 

146 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  For  the  sake  of  experiment  ?" 

"  Well,  yes." 

They  found  the  man  sitting  on  the  front  doorstep 
smoking,  with  his  unkempt  brood  about  him.  The 
youngest,  a  little  barefooted  boy  of  two  years,  sat  be 
side  him  playing  with  the  edge  of  an  axe;  the  others 
stared  up  at  the  strangers  with  an  interest  which  their 
father  did  not  seem  to  share,  even  when  Parthenope 
had  courage  to  ask  about  the  book.  He  answered 
civilly  that  she  was  welcome  to  the  other  volume.  He 
went  back  into  the  house  for  it,  and  returned  with  two 
volumes.  He  forgot,  he  said,  that  there  were  three 
in  all,  and  he  seemed  to  have  read  them.  Emerance 
took  them;  they  were  volumes  of  an  early  American 
romance,  in  the  original  edition. 

"You  know  these  are  worth  money?"  Emerance 
said. 

*"  They  belong  to  an  uncle  of  mine ;  I  couldn't  sell 
them."  The  man's  gaunt  slip  of  a  wife  had  joined 
them,  with  her  hair  now  coiled  in  her  neck;  she  was 
still  pretty.  "  Go  and  get  the  rest,"  he  ordered,  with 
out  looking  at  her,  and  she  came  again  with  her  arms 
full  of  the  same  author  and  screeched  her  comments, 
which  he  received  without  a  word  or  glance  in  her 
direction.  But  there  seemed  a  community  of  pride 
between  them  in  the  possession  of  something  that 
others  could  value;  neither  of  them  were  of  such  evil 
or  unhappy  countenance  as  Parthenope  said  she  had 
expected  when  they  had  thanked  them  for  the  volumes 
which  Emerance  carried  away  for  her. 

The  Kelwyn  boys  ran  ahead  with  the  effect  of  having 
escaped  with  their  lives  from  the  boys  and  dogs  silent 
ly  surrounding  them  during  the  parley. 

It  seemed  by  an  afterthought  that  the  woman 
screamed  after  the  girl,  "  Well,  call  again !" 

147 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Parthenope  said  she  would,  and  that  Mrs.  Alison 
must  come  and  see  Mrs.  Kelwjn.  "  I  don't  know," 
she  confided  to  Emerance,  "whether  I  ought  to  have 
done  that,  hut,  if  she  comes,  I  can  see  her.  Wasn't  it 
dreadful,  that  child  playing  with  the  axe,  and  hid 
father  and  mother  walking  over  him  and  not  paying 
the  least  attention?  I  wonder  how  such  children  get 
through  the  world." 

"  Perhaps,"  Emerance  suggested,  "  there's  a  good 
deal  more  of  what  used  to  be  called  overruling  Provi 
dence  than  people  will  allow  nowadays." 

"  There  must  he.  Oh,  boys,  see  the  rabbit !"  she 
called  to  the  little  Kelwyns,  and  she  pointed  to  the 
young  wild  thing  loping  across  the  road  before  them. 

Emerance  began  to  whistle  softly,  and  the  rabbit 
stopped  and  sat  up,  with  its  long  ears  quivering  and 
its  body  throbbing  with  the  strong  pulse  of  its  fright 
ened  heart.  When  the  warbling  note  ceased,  it  vanished 
at  a  gallop  into  the  wayside  brambles. 

"  How  beautiful !"  the  girl  sighed.  "  I  wish  I  could 
have  done  that." 

"  You  had  only  to  whistle." 

"  But  I  can't  whistle." 

"  I  will  teach  you,  so  that  you  can  charm  the  next 
rabbit." 

"  A  good  many  girls  are  learning  to  whistle  now. 
I  think  they  are  overdoing  it,"  she  evaded  him. 

That  afternoon,  when  Emerance  was  taking  leave 
before  going  back  to  the  Shakers',  where  a  lodging  had 
been  fitted  up  for  him  in  what  he  confessed  was  the 
house  ordinarily  occupied  by  tramps,  Mrs.  Kelwyn  had 
a  burst  of  hospitality  which  carried  her  so  far  that  she 
said,  "  Why  don't  you  come  and  stay  here  with  us  till 
the  Shakers  can  provide  properly  for  you  ?" 

No  one  could  have  been  more  surprised  than  her 

148 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

husband;  but  he  said,  as  if  the  thing  were  not  at  all 
surprising :  "  Yes ;  why  not  ?  We  have  some  eighteen 
or  twenty  rooms  that  you  could  have,  if  you  don't  want 
beds  in  them  all.  And  you  would  be  a  brother  in  mis 
fortune." 

This  was  more  than  his  wife  meant  him  to  say,  but  it 
was  not  more  than  enough  to  overcome  the  young  man's 
reluctance,  apparently.  His  reluctance  was  silent,  how 
ever,  and,  after  a  longish  pause,  he  said,  "  If  you 
wouldn't  mind  my  coming  till  the  Shakers  have  some 
of  their  rooms  free — " 

"  Why,  certainly,"  Kelwyn  said,  "  as  long  or  as  short 
a  time  as  you  like." 

"  And  you  would  let  me  pay  for  my  board — " 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Emerance,  that  you  have  been 
working  for  your  board  all  along,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  hastily 
interposed,  as  if  to  keep  her  husband  from  saying  it 
and  taking  the  credit  of  their  hospitality  from  her. 

"  Oh,  but  that  was  different.  That  was  merely  in 
the  abstract," 

"  Make  it  as  much  in  the  concrete  as  you  like,"  Kel 
wyn  cut  in  before  his  wife  could  think  of  the  antith 
esis  ;  and  on  terms  that  allowed  Emerance  to  contribute 
a  fair  share  to  the  general  expense  for  provisions,  and 
to  exercise  the  right  of  intervening  between  the  Kel- 
wyns  and  Mrs.  Kite's  cooking  when  it  became  intol 
erable,  the  affair  was  arranged  with  the  provisionality 
which  he  exacted.  Parthenope  had  listened  at  the  be 
ginning  in  a  dispassionate  silence  which  she  felt  her 
due,  but  she  did  not  wait  for  the  end  of  the  treaty. 
When  he  came  out,  Emerance  found  her  sitting  on  the 
threshold  stone  with  a  listless  and  absent  air. 

"  I  don't  know  but  you'll  think  I  have  acted  on  an 
impulse,"  he  said,  with  the  gladness  of  his  heart  fading 
a  little  from  his  face  at  his  doubt  of  hers. 

149 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Yes  ?"  she  asked,  indifferently.  "  What  have  you 
done?" 

"  I've  let  your  cousins  take  pity  on  me  and  give  me 
food  and  shelter." 

"Is  it  so  bad  as  that?" 

"  Not  quite ;  they  are  to  let  me  work  for  my  living. 
All  the  same,  I  feel  like  an  intruder,  but  I  had  no  one 
to  advise  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  me  ?" 

"  Well,  yes." 

"  I  couldn't  very  well  have  advised  you  not  to  stay," 
she  said  as  carelessly  as  before,  but  she  added  more 
kindly,  "  I  am  an  intruder,  too,  you  know."  Then 
throwing  her  pretence  of  listlessness  and  absence  to 
the  winds  she  ended,  "And  as  for  impulse,  I  don't 
think  Fve  been  much  guided  by  principle  myself." 

"  Since  when  ?"  he  asked,  smiling  gratefully. 

"  You  think  you  couldn't  say  ?" 

"  I  might  if  I  were  driven  into  a  corner." 

"  I  won't  drive  you  into  a  corner.  I  think  you  are 
very  good.  Perhaps  you  would  let  me  help  you  work  for 
a  living.  Or  teach  me  how  to  work  for  mine,  I  mean." 

"  As  far  as  I  know  I  will.  I  suppose  I  shall  always 
be  a  pedagogue  of  one  kind  or  other." 

She  considered  now  that  he  needed  a  little  rap  to  re 
store  a  manly  tone  in  him.  It  was  the  duty  of  a  woman 
to  keep  a  man  from  ever  taking  an  unmanly  tone,  and 
if  Emerance  was  humbled  by  an  unworthy  conscious 
ness  she  would  uplift  him  by  humbling  him  still  more. 

"  It's  a  noble  calling,  pedagogy ;  I  can't  think  of 
anything  higher  than  teaching  the  more  advanced 
branches  of  cookery." 

Emerance  looked  at  her  and  then  he  laughed.  But 
whether  at  her  irony  or  his  own  sense  of  deserving  it 

she  did  not  care.     She  laughed,  too. 

150 


XIX 

THE  simple  idyl  of  the  passing  days  varied  little  in 
its  dramatic  range,  though  there  was  difference  enough 
in  its  incidents  to  keep  the  fancy  and  the  sympathy 
amused.  One  morning  when  Parthenope  and  Emerance 
were  getting  the  common  breakfast,  there  came  a  family 
of  organ-grinders,  who  paused  under  the  elms  as  if  ar 
rested  there  by  the  scent  of  the  coffee  stealing  from 
the  kitchen.  There  were  two  men — an  older  man  who 
sat  silently  apart  in  the  shade  and  a  young  man  who 
came  forward  and  offered  to  play.  He  had  the  sardonic 
eyes  of  a  goat,  but  the  baby  in  the  arms  of  a  young 
mother  had  a  Napoleonic  face,  classic  and  mature.  She 
herself  was  beautiful,  and  she  said  they  were  all  from 
the  mountains  near  Genoa  and  were  presently  on  their 
way  to  the  next  town.  They  were  peasants,  but  they 
had  a  grace  which  made  Parthenope  sigh  aloud  in  her 
thought  of  the  contrast  they  offered  to  the  mannerless 
uncouthness  of  the  Yankee  country-folks.  The  woman 
complained  of  the  heat,  but  sweetly;  and  the  young 
man  said  they  liked  their  wandering  life ;  the  old  man 
smiled  benignly,  but  said  nothing,  except  to  thank 
Parthenope  beautifully  when  she  served  him  first  with 
the  coffee  and  bread  which  she  brought  out  for  the 
whole  family. 

In  the  understanding  of  their  pastoral  situation  tacit 
between  them,  "  What  part  of  the  idyl  should  you  call 
this  ?"  she  asked  Emerance  when  the  Italians  departed, 
scattering  benedictions  behind  them ;  and  he  answered : 

151 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Oh,  a  little  dramatic  interlude." 

"  I  don't  see  much  drama  in  it,"  she  said,  looking 
after  them  down  the  road.  "  I  wish  they  could  have 
taken  me  with  them.  I  could  have  got  a  tambourine, 
and  played  and  danced,  and  people  would  have  brought 
me  out  coffee." 

"  Not  as  good  as  you  make,"  Emerance  was  sure. 

"  Your  gems  are  burning ;  I  can  smell  them  here," 
she  said,  and  she  fled  before  him  into  the  kitchen. 

There  seemed  some  mysterious  property  in  his  nature 
which  had  the  virtue  of  turning  the  prose  of  every  day 
into  the  poetry  of  every  other  day,  but  her  youth  ac 
cepted  the  poetry  without  the  scrutiny  which  might  have 
proved  self-analysis  in  the  end. 

They  let  the  Kelwyns  take  the  carryall  for  the  vil 
lage  shopping,  and  stayed  at  home  that  day,  Parthenope 
to  put  the  house  in  order,  and  Emerance  to  hoe  the 
corn,  which  had  been  outstripped  by  the  weeds  in  the 
hot  weather.  About  noon  an  Irish  linen-peddler  showed 
a  sulky  visage  in  the  doorway.  Emerance  came  in 
from  the  garden,  as  if  casually,  and  then  they  invited 
the  peddler  in,  too ;  being  so  civilly  treated,  he  prompt 
ly  grew  humbler  and  told  his  simple  tale.  He  had 
been  an  iron-puddler  in  a  Pittsburg  foundry,  and  had 
turned  linen-peddler  because  he  was  out  of  work.  But 
prosperity  fled  before  him  as  he  wandered  eastward. 
He  did  not  sell  much  linen  at  the  farm-houses;  people 
thought  they  could  get  things  cheaper  at  the  stores, 
and  generally  he  travelled  by  rail  from  village  to  vil 
lage,  and  so  found  what  market  he  could.  Parthenope 
gave  him  a  glass  of  lemonade,  and  then  he  shouldered 
his  pack  and  strode  out  into  the  furnace  of  the  heat, 
while  they  remained  and  philosophized  his  case. 

"  I  could  never  be  a  peddler,"  she  said,  thoughtfully. 
"  I  should  not  have  the  courage  to  push  in." 

152 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

"  But  if  necessity  had  the  courage,  and  pushed  you 
in?" 

"  It  seemed  impudence  in  his  case  at  first.  I'm  glad 
it  wasn't.  How  hard  life  seems  when  you  come  face  to 
face  with  it !" 

They  tried  to  be  sad,  but  they  could  not.  Perhaps 
life  as  they  saw  it  reflected  in  each  other's  eyes  was 
not  hard;  the  trouble  they  borrowed  did  not  really 
harass  them. 

A  storm  came  up  and  raged  for  an  hour  without 
cooling  the  air.  One  of  the  clouds  hung  so  low  as  to 
mix  with  the  pines  in  the  horse  -  pasture,  where  the 
ghostly  estray  which  the  Kite  boy  had  turned  out  to 
grass  there  wavered  in  and  out  of  sight  as  the  lightning 
rent  the  lowering  vapor. 

"  This  is  like  the  day  when  the  bear-leader  came," 
Parthenope  mused  aloud.  "  I  hope  my  cousins  and  the 
boys  are  under  shelter." 

"  Oh,  they  have  turned  in  somewhere  with  this  storm 
coming  up." 

"  I've  often  wondered  what  became  of  that  bear 
leader.  What  does  become  of  bear-leaders  when  they 
are  not  leading  their  bears?"  she  questioned  on. 
"  They  must  find  it  hard  to  get  lodgings.  Are  there 
hotels  where  they  make  a  specialty  of  taking  in  bears 
and  their  leaders,  do  you  suppose  ?" 

They  played  with  the  question  and  then  dropped  it 
in  gay  hopelessness. 

Emerance  came  to  the  window,  where  she  was  look 
ing  down,  and  saw  a  wayfarer  leaving  the  kitchen  steps 
with  the  hand-out  which  Mrs.  Kite  never  refused  his 
tribe. 

He  was  squalid  enough,  but  sometimes  the  tramps 
were  interesting.  Parthenope  sketched  one:  a  little, 
sailorlike  Frenchman,  with  a  swarthy  face  and  black 

153 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

eyes  and  thin  gold  earrings  that  twinkled  together. 
He  stood  for  his  portrait  with  his  hands  full  of  Mrs. 
Kite's  cold  griddle  -  cakes,  smiling,  and  he  finally  ac 
cepted  a  ten-cent  note  with  charming  effusion. 

Another  day,  at  the  close  of  a  long  afternoon's  ramble 
with  Emerance,  as  they  were  emerging  from  a  wood- 
road  into  the  highway,  a  tramp  as  far  out  of  the  aver 
age  as  this  acceptable  little  Frenchman  was  in  his  way 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  ground  like  a  human  cloud. 
He  was  a  gigantic  negro,  with  a  sullen,  bestial  face, 
which  looked  the  wickeder  because  of  his  vast,  naked 
feet.  He  had  his  boots  and  a  very  good  new-looking 
hand-bag  slung  on  a  stick.  He  faltered  a  moment, 
glaring  at  them  with  bloodshot  eyes,  and  then  lurked 
away  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods. 

"  What  a  horror,  poor  soul !"  the  voice  of  Emerance 
said  close  to  her  ear,  and  she  realized  that  she  had 
shrunk  to  his  side. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  detaching  herself  with  a  quavering 
effort  for  lightness.  "  I  much  prefer  the  little  French 
man;  but  I  suppose  one  mustn't  be  too  choice  in 
tramps."  She  tried  to  joke  away  the  evidence  of  her 
fright. 

"  They  probably  don't  choose  themselves,"  Emerance 
said. 

"Probably  not,"  she  answered,  with  hauteur. 
"  Something  might  be  done  about  them." 

"  Well,  they're  arresting  them  a  good  deal,  and  ban 
ishing  or  imprisoning  them,  I  suppose,"  he  concluded, 
sadly.  "  Something  of  the  kind  has  to  be  done.  A 
fellow  like  that  makes  one  think." 

"  My  cousin  has  a  pistol,"  she  said,  severely. 

Emerance  only  said,  "  Ah  ?"  But  that  evening,  after 
supper,  he  asked  Kelwyn  if  he  had  ever  used  his  pistol 
at  all,  and,  without  owning  to  the  ignominy  of  Mrs. 

154 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Kelwyn's  control,  Kelwyn  said  he  had  thought  of  shoot 
ing  at  a  mark  with  it.  They  went  out  into  the  orchard, 
followed  by  the  Kite  boy,  the  young  Kelwyns  being 
forbidden  by  their  mother,  who  had  consented  to  her 
husband's  share  in  the  danger  because  she  was  ashamed 
to  deny  him  before  another  man.  They  tried  shooting 
at  a  tin  cup  eight  paces  away,  and  missed  it  six  times 
out  of  six;  they  reduced  the  distance  by  a  half  and 
still  missed  it. 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Emerance,"  Kelwyn  said,  "  that  we 
are  too  civilized  for  this  sort  of  thing.  We  have  been 
aiming  all  our  lives  at  something  higher  than  tin  cups 
with  something  more  accurate  than  revolvers.  If  the 
custom  of  duelling  should  be  restored,  as  some  people 
think  it  ought,  I  shouldn't  mind  fighting  with  you." 

"  I  might  hit  you  by  accident,"  the  young  man  sug 
gested. 

"  That  is  true.  Are  you  too  young,  I  wonder,  to  have 
read  the  Reverend  Doctor  Knott's  funeral  oration  on 
the  Burr-Hamilton  duel  ?  There  were  some  fine  things 
in  it,  especially  about  Burr,  like :  c  If  there  be  tears  in 
heaven,  a  pious  mother  looks  down  and  weeps.'  And 
the  doctor  got  over  his  difficulty  of  saying  that  he  aimed 
his  pistol  at  Hamilton  by  a  very  handsome  paraphrase : 
'  He  pointed  at  that  incorruptible  bosom  the  instrument; 
of  death.'  " 

"  Yes,"  Emerance  said ;  "  I  know  that  oration.  I 
have  rather  revived  the  old  fashion  with  my  boys  of 
having  them  learn  passages  of  eloquence.  I  think  it 
lifts  their  thoughts  somewhat,  and  for  the  moment  it 
keeps  their  tongues  from  slang.  I  don't  know  whether 
they  realize  the  fact  of  the  duel  very  clearly.  It's 
surprising  how  incredible  the  duel  has  become  already, 
how  impossible." 

"  Still,  there  are  a  great  many  pistols  made.    I  once 

11  155 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

saw  a  big  mound  of  them  in  Colt's  factory.  When  I 
bought  mine  I  realized  that  every  one  was  made  to 
kill  a  man.  It  was  a  heap  of  potential  homicide." 

They  walked  homeward  talking,  and  as  they  passed 
the  old  well  near  the  barn,  disused  since  the  Shakers 
had  brought  the  spring  down  from  the  upland  above, 
Kelwyn  said,  "  I  wonder  what  effect  this  pistol  would 
have  on  the  water  here  if  I  dropped  it  in." 

"  I  should  think  the  iron  would  make  it  tonic  and 
good  for  the  horses,  if  they  ever  drank  of  it  again." 

Kelwyn  let  the  pistol  fall,  and  they  listened  an  ap 
preciable  moment  for  the  splash.  "  I  shouldn't  have 
thought  it  was  so  deep."  When  he  told  his  wife,  she 
was  not  as  glad  as  he  expected.  She  said,  "  I  don't 
know — if  there  are  going  to  be  black  tramps  about !" 

The  help  which  Emerance  now  rendered  Mrs.  Kite 
in  the  kitchen,  and  the  help  which  Parthenope  rendered 
him,  eventuated  in  so  large  a  release  of  Mrs.  Kite  from 
that  part  of  her  cares  that  she  could  sit  much  of  the 
time  and  watch  the  two  at  work  without  having  to 
join  in  it,  except  in  shelling  pease  or  stringing  beans, 
or  some  other  task  that  did  not  break  the  flow  of  con 
versation  or  require  steps.  She  showed  a  gay  surprise 
at  their  finding  so  much  of  the  garden  stuff  ready  to 
use  when  they  came  in  from  picking  it,  but  this  sur 
prise,  like  the  admiration  she  had  expressed  for  their 
cooking,  presently  passed,  and  she  accepted  the  situa 
tion  with  a  serenity  unruffled  by  a  sense  of  respon 
sibility  for  the  other  details  of  housework,  which  she 
left  to  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  and  came  back  to  after  they  were 
done  in  an  amiable  amusement  that  she  should  have 
forgotten  them.  She  was,  without  too  keenly  realizing 
it,  having  a  rest  such  as  she  had  not  known  since  she 
could  remember.  Emerance  had  cleared  out  the  milk- 

156 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

room  for  her,  and  set  the  pans  there  after  having  in 
structed  Kaney  and  Albert  how  to  guard  against  cowi- 
ness  in  milking;  and  there  remained  nothing  very 
definite  for  her  to  do  but  to  provide  for  her  own  fam 
ily  the  food  to  which  they  were  used  and  to  which 
they  continued  loyal.  Under  these  circumstances  it 
was  not  strange  that  her  thoughts  should  stray  beyond 
their  wonted  limits,  and  she  announced  one  day  tow 
ard  the  end  of  June  that  she  believed  she  should  go 
and  see  her  sister  over  in  the  edge  of  Hancock.  She 
made  a  show  of  having  been  constantly  employed  in 
the  service  of  her  guests.  "  I  can  cook  up  enough 
things  to  last  my  folks  over  a  few  days,  and  you  can 
make  Kaney  and  Albert  help  you  while  I'm  gone." 

She  had  been  having  for  her  own  immediate  assist 
ance  the  daughter  of  a  neighbor,  and  the  day  after  she 
went  on  her  visit  the  neighbor  came  to  fetch  his  daugh 
ter  away.  While  the  girl  was  putting  her  things  to 
gether  he  stood  on  the  green  before  the  house  leaning 
on  a  long  staff  like  a  classic  shepherd,  and  with  Par- 
thenope  surreptitiously  sketching  him  he  began  to  tell 
what  he  would  do  with  that  place  if  he  had  it  and  had 
five  thousand  dollars  to  spend  on  it.  For  one  thing, 
he  would  put  a  piazza  all  round  it.  Then,  before  he 
could  say  what  else,  his  daughter  came  out  with  her 
bundle,  and  they  moved  away  together  with  visible  re 
luctance.  The  old  Family  house  was,  in  fact,  the  pride 
and  envy  of  the  whole  region.  All  the  neighbors 
wanted  it,  and  each  said  how  he  would  fit  it  up  for 
a  summer  hotel  if  he  had  it.  The  Kites  alone  seemed 
satisfied  with  it  as  it  was,  and  this,  where  there  was  so 
little  in  their  favor,  commended  them  to  the  Kelwyns, 
who  were  disturbed  in  their  sense  of  possession  by  a 
sense  of  the  covetous  environment.  It  was  a  comfort, 
under  the  circumstances,  to  have  Emerance  in  the 

157 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

house  with  them,  though  his  ideas  of  private  property 
were  of  a  latitude  which  Kelwyn's  science  could  not 
approve.  Still,  so  long  as  he  did  not  suggest  filling 
the  vacant  rooms  with  a  colony  of  houseless  poor,  which 
seemed  to  be  his  notion  of  the  use  that  the  empty  sum 
mer  hotels  ought  to  b©  put  to  in  the  winter,  his  heresies 
could  be  tolerated. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn,  in  a  revulsion  from  her  earlier  dif 
fidence,  trusted  him  in  everything  even  more  implicit 
ly  than  her  husband.  She  let  him  go  off  on  long  ram 
bles  in  the  wild  region  with  her  two  boys,  and  with 
Parthenope  to  look  after  them;  and  she  sent  them  all 
on  the  errands  to  the  village  grocer  and  butcher,  which, 
in  the  frequent  failure  of  the  Kites'  provisioning,  she 
used  to  do  with  Kelwyn.  Her  demoralization  included 
the  temperamental  defects  of  the  lazy  old  horse  which 
Kite  had  provided  them,  and  which  she  had  early  de 
nounced  as  the  worst  horse  in  existence.  She  now  be 
gan  to  say  that  the  carryall  was  too  heavy  for  him, 
but  Emerance  differed  from  her  on  that  point,  and 
then  she  contented  herself  with  making  him  promise 
to  drive  very  slowly  and  have  everybody  get  out  go 
ing  up-hill.  Sometimes  he  forgot  her  instruction  in 
his  talks  with  Parthenope,  which  were  apt  to  take  the 
form  of  dispute  and  a  final  difference  of  opinion.  The 
girl  felt  that  he  was  wrong  in  these  differences,  but  she 
blamed  herself  more  than  she  blamed  him  for  her  want 
of  severity  with  him. 

Emerance's  traditions  were  probably  not  those  which 
would  have  made  him  feel  it  strange  that  he  should  be 
wandering  about  the  lonely  country  with  a  young  girl ; 
and  the  conventions  of  Parthenope's  Boston  were  not 
yet  so  strict,  thirty  five  or  six  years  ago,  that  after  the 
first  days  of  strangeness  she  should  be  conscious  in  his 
companionship.  Perhaps  that  something  of  a  wilding 

158 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

quality  in  her  nature  came  from  her  artist  father  and 
mother,  and  had  never  been  quelled  by  her  environment. 
Her  aunt,  though  of  a  world  much  more  regulated, 
lived  rather  out  of  her  world;  she  had  left  the  girl 
mostly  to  her  own  inspirations  in  conduct,  and  Par- 
thenope  had  found  these  sufficient  in  the  simple  ways 
of  society  just  beginning  to  imagine  chaperonage.  If 
it  was  not  the  first  society  of  her  ancestral  city,  it  was 
society  that  read  and  thought  and  idealized,  and  was 
of  a  freedom  gladder  than  that  which  has  come  in 
something  like  excess  to  the  society  which  now  neither 
reads  nor  thinks  nor  idealizes.  If  she  had  known  it — 
but  no  girl  could  have  known  it — she  was  standing  on 
the  verge  of  that  America  which  is  now  so  remote  in 
everything  but  time,  and  was  even  then  rounding  away 
with  such  girlhood  as  hers  into  the  past  which  can 
hardly  be  recalled  in  any  future  of  the  world.  It 
was  sweet  and  dear;  with  its  mixture  of  the  simple 
and  the  gentle,  it  was  nearer  the  Golden  Age  than 
any  the  race  has  yet  known ;  and  it  followed  fitly  upon 
the  great  war  which  had  established  liberty  on  a  wider 
basis  than  ever  before  in  history.  These  two  could 
not  feel  their  relation  to  the  conventional,  the  social, 
fact ;  they  were  a  young  man  and  a  young  girl  walking 
or  driving  together  in  the  pastures  or  along  the  wood- 
roads  in  the  fragrant  summer  mornings;  and  in  their 
intense  personalization  they  could  not  know  how  ele 
mental  they  were,  how  akin  to  earth  and  air,  and  of 
one  blood  with  the  grass  and  the  trees,  with  the  same 
ichor  in  their  veins. 

They  often  stopped  at  the  Shakers  for  pleasure,  but 
one  morning  they  went  on  the  business  of  selecting  the 
stuff  for  a  writing-desk,  which  was  to  be  a  surprise 
for  Kelwyn.  He  had  decided  that  he  could  not  afford 
it  at  the  figure  named  by  Raney  for  miaking  it,  and 

159 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Emerance,  in  conspiracy  with  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  had  pro 
posed  building  it  from  designs  by  Parthenope:  he  said 
he  sometimes  did  odd  jobs  of  carpentering.  The  de 
signer  came  with  him  into  the  loft  of  the  old  Shaker 
shop  to  choose  the  plank,  and  afterward  she  sat  by, 
most  of  the  time,  while  he  planed  it  and  put  it  together, 
and  corrected  his  errors  as  to  her  intentions  in  the  plan. 
In  that  day  of  Eastlake  furniture  the  desk  was  to  bo 
a  remorseless  sort  of  akimbo  Gothic,  which  permitted 
no  luxurious  deviations  from  the  most  virtuous  rigidity. 
When  Parthenope  was  tired  of  sitting  on  a  trestle  and 
looking  on,  she  went  and  chatted  with  the  Office  Sisters ; 
they  took  a  less  fearful  interest  in  her  going  about  with 
a  young  man  than  the  unworldlier  inmates  of  the  Fam 
ily  houses,  who  caught  glimpses  of  them  round  the 
valves  of  half-open  doors  or  through  edges  of  lifted 
window-curtains,  and  forbiddenly  conjectured,  when 
they  were  gone,  how  such  a  girl  must  feel. 

Once,  as  she  was  driving  through  the  village  with 
Emerance,  they  saw  Elder  Nathaniel  lying  beside  a 
great  fire  of  refuse  broom-corn  on  the  grass,  which  he 
was  keeping  from  running  wild  in  the  garden.  He 
looked  so  sweet  and  beautiful  as  he  lay  there  that  Par 
thenope  wanted  to  sketch  him,  but  suddenly  he  caught 
sight  of  them  and  came  forward  to  the  fence,  and  be 
gan  to  chat  courteously,  while  the  flames  behind  him 
tossed  richly  against  the  green  curtain  of  the  rasp 
berry  vines.  "  ~Now  and  then,"  he  said,  at  parting,  "  I 
meet  with  some  one  who  has  ideas,  and  that  brightens 
everything  up.  If  you  keep  your  hold  of  ideas,  and 
do  not  lose  yourselves  in  trivial  cares,  your  lives  will 
be  as  bright  as  you  have  made  my  half-hour." 

The  old  man  seemed  quite  naturally  to  have  joined 
their  lives  in  his  thought,  and  Emerance  was  silent  as 
they  drove  away;  but  Parthenope  was  quite  uncon- 

160 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

scions,  and  laughed  and  said  How  sweet  the  Elder 
was,  and  did  not  Emerance  think  him  lovely,  with  his 
thin,  aquiline  face  and  his  white  hair?  She  was  not 
so  mnch  at  her  ease  as  to  Emerance's  looks,  when  her 
ownership  of  them  was  imagined  by  a  great,  silly, 
buxom  girl,  overripe  for  her  years,  when  they  stopped  to 
ask  her  if  she  would  sell  them  some  cherries,  at  a  way 
side  farm-house.  She  was  talking  to  some  guinea-fowls 
on  terms  of  cosey  confidence  as  if  they  were  human 
hens,  but  she  came  forward  in  her  bare  head  and  large, 
white,  bare  feet.  "  My,"  she  gurgled,  "  if  I  thought 
I  was  goin?  to  have  company  I  guess  I  should  had  my 
shoes  on."  She  apparently  expected  them  to  enjoy 
her  predicament,  and  she  told  Emerance  the  family 
she  lived  with  had  gone  to  the  village  and  she  could 
not  sell  him  any  cherries,  but  she  guessed  he  could  pick 
all  he  wanted  to  eat.  She  got  him  a  dish  to  pick  them 
in,  and  while  he  mounted  the  tree  she  praised  him 
over  the  palings  to  Parthenope  in  undertone.  "  He's 
just  about  the  handsomest  fellow  yet!  I  should  be 
jealous  if  another  girl  as  much  as  winked  at  him." 
She  was  not  discouraged  by  Parthenope's  failure  to 
humor  her  joke,  and  when  Emerance  came  out  of  the 
tree  she  laughed,  "  Got  enough  ?"  and  she  said  to  Par 
thenope:  "Well,  call  again.  Wish  I  could  let  you 
take  the  dish  along  too!"  She  warned  them  they 
would  not  find  any  thimble  -  berries  on  that  road ; 
there  used  to  be  plenty;  but  the  farmers  thought  they 
hurt  the  looks  of  the  walls,  and  they  had  cut  the  vines 
down  that  spring. 

They  ate  the  cherries,  with  the  help  of  the  boys, 
and  pushed  farther  on,  having  the  whole  afternoon  be 
fore  them  in  the  study  of  the  pleasant  country-side,  and 
the  villages  which  were  sometimes  clusters  of  farm 
houses,  and  with  once  a  little  milling  hamlet,  and  a  mill- 

161 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

pond  starred  with  white  water-lilies,  and  yellow  ones 
that  looked  like  flights  of  canary  birds  stooping  on  the 
water.  The  low  factory  buildings  that  hummed  so 
softly  had  taken,  in  the  embrowning  heat  of  many  sum 
mers,  the  tone  of  the  earthen  banks;  the  hills  around 
were  lighted  up  with  the  stems  of  birches.  The  houses 
were  homes  of  simple  comfort,  in  their  well-netted  se 
curity  from  mosquitoes.  Before  a  door  four  neighbor 
women  sat  in  a  row  together  sewing. 

"  This  seems  about  the  best  that  life  can  do,"  Emer- 
ance  suggested.  "  When  I  see  something  like  this 
peacefulness  I  wonder  why  cities  should  be.  Then 
I  think  I  should  like  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  days 
here !" 

"  Sewing  on  a  bench  by  a  door,  or  working  in  a 
mill?"  the  girl  asked,  with  an  unreasoned  necessity 
which  was  on  her  to  combat  anything  that  was  too  ec 
centric  in  him. 

"  Oh !"  he  laughed,  "  sewing  on  a  bench  by  a  door, 
of  course.  But  working  in  an  old,  brown,  wood-colored 
mill  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  with  a  Saturday  half-holiday. 
"No;  you  are  right.  The  world  is  here,  as  it  is  every 
where,  and  it  is  always  the  same  old  world.  I  sup 
pose  those  women  were  gossiping  about  some  one.  I 
wonder  whom." 

"  Us,  probably." 

"  Eeally  ?    What  were  they  saying  ?" 

"  That  you  must  be  very  rich  to  afford  driving  about 
with  a  horse  and  carriage  like  this." 

"  But  I  can't  afford  it.  I  drive  about  in  this  style 
because  I'm  out  of  work." 

"  I  didn't  say  they  were  right." 

The  social  superiority  to  Emerance  which  Par- 
thenope  felt  so  distinctly  at  first  had  evanesced  into 
something  like  a  sense  of  moral  seniority,  though  this 

162 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

is  putting  in  terms  still  vaguer  a  feeling  that  was  it 
self  very  vague.  From  her  greater  knowledge  of  the 
world,  as  she  believed  it,  she  was  called  to  instruct 
him  on  points  which  were  not  always  of  worldly  knowl 
edge,  but  were  matters  on  which  he  needed  instruction 
or  on  which  she  saw  the  need  of  giving  it. 

In  another  drive  they  came  on  a  turn  of  the  road  to 
a  stone  cottage  standing  among  maple-trees  on  the  brow 
of  a  hill  overlooking  a  wide  meadow.  A  mass  of  honey 
suckle  in  blossom  embowered  the  doorway  and  matted 
the  hip-roof  gables;  the  wooden  extension  of  the  cot 
tage  did  not  discord  with  the  gray  masonry;  possibly 
because  it  looked  old  from  its  weather-worn  red  paint. 
Emerance  stopped  the  horse  and  asked  the  way  of  a 
handsome,  stout,  blond  man,  who  answered  through  his 
mouth  and  not  through  his  nose. 

"One  doesn't  often  see  a  stone  house  in  the  coun 
try,"  Emerance  suggested,  when  he  had  got  his  direc 
tions. 

"  That's  a  fact,"  the  owner  allowed.  "  But  we  built 
it  ourselves  because  we  liked  stone."  By  this  time  a 
comely,  ladylike  woman  had  joined  him  at  the  door. 
"  Guess  we'd  better  built  it  all  stone.  The  ell  part  be 
gins  to  want  paint.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,"  he  added, 
with  a  laugh,  in  his  rush  of  confidence,  "  we  can't  agree 
what  color  to  paint  it.  What  should  you  say  ?" 

Emerance  glanced  at  the  shutters  of  the  stone  struct 
ure.  "  I  should  say  green — dark  green." 

The  man  laughed  again.  "  Well,  that's  what  I  say." 
Then,  after  some  playful  asides  with  the  comely  ma 
tron,  he  called  toward  Parthenope,  "  She  wants  to  know 
what  the  lady  thinks." 

"Who?  I?"  Parthenope  called  back.  "Oh,  red, 
by  all  means!  The  same  red  it  was!" 

The  man  clapped  himself  joyfully  on  the  thigh;  his 

163 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

wife  gave  his  shoulder  a  little  triumphant  push.  Emer- 
ance  chirruped  to  his  horse,  but  before  he  could  start 
him  the  man  of  the  cottage  shouted,  "  Well,  I  guess 
the  reds  have  it !"  and  his  wife  vanished  indoors. 

After  the  horse  had  really  begun  to  move  away, 
Emerance  said,  from  a  dreamy  silence,  "  May  I  ask 
why  you  preferred  red  ?" 

"  Why,"  she  answered,  with  the  need  she  felt  of 
marking  an  sesthetical  inferiority  in  him,  "  I  don't 
suppose  I  can  tell.  It  is  impossible  to  explain  a  feel 
ing." 

"  A'  feeling  for  color  ?"  he  asked,  idly  flicking  at  the 
harness  with  his  whip.  "  I  don't  believe  I  have  it.  Is 
it  something  that  can  be  acquired?  Like  right  prin 
ciples,  for  instance  ?" 

"  !N"o,  I  don't  think  it  can.  It  has  to  be  born  in 
you.  Perhaps  it's  like  right  principles  in  that,  though. 
Ruskin  seems  to  think  they're  the  same :  that  the  great 
color ists  were  morally  great." 

"  I  wonder  if  that's  so,"  the  young  man  questioned, 
and  he  was  pensively  silent  as  if  he  were  thinking  the 
point  over  self-reproachfully.  But  he  said,  after  a 
moment,  "  I  don't  believe  there  is  anything  in  that 
idea,"  and  then  she  was  so  abashed  by  his  boldness  that 
she  became  rather  meek,  and  began  trying  quite  hum 
bly  to  say  why  dull  red  would  be  better  than  dark 
green  for  that  wooden  extension. 


XX 


THE  Fourth  of  July  had  been  heralded  by  a  summer 
evening  of  that  exquisite  New  England  quality  which 
has  its  like  nowhere  else  in  the  world.  There  was  a 
clear  sunset,  and  the  young  moon  lingered  in  the  west 
ern  sky  above  the  great  stretch  of  forest.  The  two 
families,  parted  by  the  stretch  of  greensward  before 
their  separate  doors,  sat  under  the  trees;  Parthenope 
had  been  drawing  pictures  of  the  three  boys  pulling  the 
spring  wagon  up  and  down  the  road.  It  was  so  peace 
ful  that  Kelwyn  lost  the  feeling  of  nether  unrest  which 
at  other  times  tormented  him,  and  began  to  hope  that 
somehow  the  Kites  would  yet  do.  He  did  not,  in  fact, 
much  mind  being  wakened  from,  his  first  sleep  that 
night  by  the  firing  of  cannon  and  ringing  of  bells  in 
the  surrounding  villages,  or  being  broken  of  his  morn 
ing  nap  by  the  torpedoes  and  fire-crackers  which  the 
three  boys  exploded  under  his  window. 

The  pyrotechnics  of  the  evening  were  typically  re 
luctant.  Emerance  had  charge  of  them,  with  Raney's 
help;  but  the  pin-wheels  caught  and  hung  fizzing  in 
stead  of  revolving  with  a  coruscation  of  sparks;  the 
rockets  shot  sideways  and  ascended  in  unexpected  tan- 
geats;  the  Roman  candles  alone  did  well,  and  each  of 
the  boys  was  allowed  to  fire  one  off.  The  two  Kelwyn 
boys  had  their  hands  held  by  their  father;  the  Kite 
boy  grasped  his  candle  unhelped,  and  fired  it  into  his 
family  circle. 

This  had  been  enlarged  by  the  return  of  his  mother, 

165 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

who  had  come  bacK  witH  a  serener  self-satisfaction  than 
she  had  shown  before  she  went.  She  had  begun  by  tell 
ing  Parthenope  and  Emerance  that  she  guessed  she 
would  get  supper  herself  that  evening,  and  in  the  meal 
she  prepared  she  had  so  perfectly  reverted  to  the  original 
type  of  her  cookery  that  the  Kelwyns  made  their  sup 
per  of  canned  tongue  and  of  tea  that  they  had  brewed 
on  the  table. 

At  the  show  of  fire-works  she  put  on  the  hostess,  as 
if  the  entertainment  was  hers,  and  invited  the  neigh 
bors  who  came,  out  of  apparent  proportion  to  the  scanty 
population,  to  take  eligible  places  with  her  family. 
Lurking  on  the  edge  of  this  inner  group  Parthenope 
found  the  wife  of  the  drunkard  Alison,  and  when  the 
display  was  over,  she  asked  the  wild  girlish  creature 
into  the  house.  She  stood  with  her  baby  in  her  arms 
while  Mrs.  .Kelwyn  bade  her  an  exemplary  good  night, 
driving  her  boys  before  her  to  their  beds;  she  followed 
their  going  with  a  sort  of  scorn. 

"Your  aunt  got  nothing  but  them  two  boys?"  she 
asked. 

"My  cousin?    That's  all." 

"My!     I  got  six." 

"  Why,  how  old  are  you  ?" 

<f  I'm  under  twenty-nine,  I  guess." 

"  And  I'm  twenty-seven  myself." 

"  You're  a  regular  old  maid." 

"Well,"  Parthenope  retorted,  witH  amusement, 
"  you're  a  regular  young  mother." 

"  It's  full  as  bad,  you  mean.  Well,  I  don't  know 
but  it  is.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  should  go  crazy 
with  'em  all,  but  then  again  I  don't  know  what  I  should 
do  without  'em  when  Tad  gets  on  one  of  his  tears.  You 
hear  that  Shaker  Elder  preach  agin  marrvin'  last  Sun 
day?" 

166 


THE  VACATION  OF,  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Yes." 

"  I  heard  tell  what  He  said.  I  guess  Ke  don't  know 
everything.  If  he  did  he  wouldn't  said  so  much  about 
the  children.  I  guess  there'd  be  more  divorces  and 
more  killin's  if  it  wa'n't  for  them.  Tad  ain't  bad 
when  he's  himself,  but  when  he's  been  at  the  jug  he 
don't  know  what  he's  up  to.  Well,  there!  I  don't 
know  as  I  ought  to  talk  to  a  young  lady  about  such 
things,  but  it's  kind  of  curious  about  children.  I 
thought  I  shouldn't  ever  feel  to'ds  the  rest  the  same 
as  I  did  to  the  first;  but  there,  the  last  is  always  the 
first,  if  you  can  understand." 

"  I  think  I  can,"  Parthenope  answered,  gravely. 

"  It's  always  the  baby  till  the  next  baby  comes.  I 
guess  they  all  have  their  turn  of  bein'  the  first.  Some 
times  it  don't  seem  as  if  I  could  get  through  the  trouble 
they  give.  But  I  hain't  ever  lost  a  single  one;  I  be 
lieve  if  I  did  it  would  about  kill  me.  I  should  like 
the  Shakers  to  understand  that.  The  Shaker  ladies 
do,  I  guess!" 

Parthenope  asked  her  if  she  would  not  sit  down, 
but  she  said  she  guessed  not;  she  guessed  she  must  be 
going.  "  I  guess  your  cousin  thought  it  was  time, 
too."  She  looked  around  the  great  room.  "  My,  but 
this  is  a  nice  place !  I  wish  Jasper'd  give  us  the  chance. 
And  he  would,  too,  I  believe,  if  he  could  ha'  placed  any 
dependence  on  Tad.  I  could  ha'  cooked  for  you!  I 
bet."  Parthenope  thought  it  best  not  to  respond,  and 
the  mother  said,  "  Well,  I  must  be  goin'." 

She  shifted  her  baby  from  one  arm  to  the  other,  and 
the  child  looked  at  Parthenope  with  sweet,  sleepy 
eyes.  "  Oh,  you  dear !"  the  girl  cooed  to  it.  "  May  I 
kiss  you  good  night,  baby?" 

"  I  guess  she's  clean  enough,"  the  mother  said, 
pulling  her  baby's  stiff  little  dress  straight.  "  I  like 

167 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

to  have  my  children  Know  it's  the  Fourth1.  The  rest 
has  been  to  the  Sunday-school  picnic.  I  guess  my 
boys  are  waitin'  for  me  outside  now.  Say  by-by  to  the 
lady.  Well,  she's  too  sleepy,  I  guess.  One  thing," 
she  turned  to  Parthenope  in  parting,  "  Don't  you  let 
them  Shakers  get  around  you  with  their  talk.  I've  had 
as  hard  a  time  as  any,  but  it's  more  of  an  even  thing 
than  they  say,  marryin'  is.  I  know,  and  they  don't. 
Well,  good  night  to  you,"  she  ended  abruptly. 

Kelwyn  was  going  to  town  in  the  morning,  and 
Emerance  with  Parthenope  drove  to  the  station  with 
him.  She  had  errands  at  the  village  stores,  and  then 
the  two  started  home  together.  At  a  turn  where  a 
wood  road  left  the  highways  he  proposed  to  follow  it 
into  the  Shaker  forest,  in  the  belief  that  it  would  come 
out  where  he  had  seen  a  wood  road  going  in  near  the 
old  Family  house.  The  woods,  damped  and  cooled 
by  an  overnight  rain,  were  scented  with  the  leaves  and 
bark  of  the  trees,  and  the  rich,  melancholy  odor  of 
the  rotting  logs,  felled  or  fallen  long  ago  and  left  in 
an  immemorial  decay.  They  did  not  hurry  because 
they  could  not,  and  also  because  they  would  not.  At 
times  Emerance  got  out  and  led  the  horse  over  a  space 
where  the  road  had  forgotten  itself,  and  helped  it  to 
remember  where  it  was  going.  After  such  a  moment 
he  remounted  to  his  place  beside  the  girl  with  a  long 
sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  Are  you  so  tired  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile  for  his 
sigh.  "  You  had  better  let  me  get  out  and  lead  the 
horse  after  this." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  he  answered ;  "  I  was  just  think 
ing  that  I  would  like  to  ask  you  something — ask  you 
about  something — "  He  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  at 
her,  but  her  face  was  averted.  "  Will  you  answer 

frankly?" 

168 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

She  now,  as  if  she  had  gained  time  enough,  faced  him, 
and  asked  in  answer,  "  Do  you  find  it  so  difficult  to  be 
frank?" 

"  Sometimes.    Or  always  with  myself.    Don't  you  ?" 

She  hesitated.  "  I  can  tell  better  when  I  know  what 
you  want  to  ask." 

He  did  not  respond  to  her  prompting,  but  inter 
posed  a  generalization. 

"  I  suppose  my  indecision,  rny  want  of  a  fixed  purpose 
in  life,  comes  from  my  love  of  experimenting." 

"  Was  that  what  you  wanted  to  ask  me  about  ?"  she 
returned. 

But  he  did  not  answer.  He  said,  "  You  know  I  am 
going  to  the  Centennial  next  week." 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  caught  herself  from  betraying  her 
surprise.  "  That  is,  I  didn't  know  it." 

"  Yes,  I've  an  idea  it  might  be  a  turning-point  for 
me.  I've  wasted  too  much  time  between  doing  and 
not  doing;  and  something  tremendously  practical,  like 
the  Centennial,  might  have  instruction  for  me." 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  but  she  did  not.  She  was 
really  wondering  what  he  meant. 

"  I  have  been  freer  with  my  time,"  he  said,  with 
the  air  of  explaining,  "  because  it  seemed  all  to  belong 
to  me  to  do  the  most  or  the  least  with  it  for  myself 
and  very  indirectly  for  other  people.  But  of  late  I 
have  begun  to  think — to  hope — that  my  time  might 
be  more  important,  more  directly  important,  to  others ; 
and  I  have  wanted  to  decide  upon  the  future  without  so 
much  loss  of  the  present." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  evasively ;  "  I  think  that  we  all 
live  too  much  in  the  future.  We  ought  to  make  more 
of  the  present,  oughtn't  we  ?" 

"  That  was  what  I  meant,"  he  answered,  with  a 
breath  irrelevantly  deep.  "  I  have  had  too  many  strings 

169 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

to  my  bow,  I'm  afraid.  In  a  sort  of  way,  or  up  to  a 
certain  point,  I  believe  I  could  be  one  of  several  things. 
What  I  have  been  is  a  teacher,  but  I  have  sometimes 
thought  of  the  law  and  sometimes  of  the  ministry. 
They  are  a  long  road,  though,  and  though  I  have  so 
much  time  I  have  not  so  much  money.  Then  I  have 
thought  of  journalism;  I  have  done  some  newspaper 
work,  and  I  could  get  a  reporter's  place.  But  there 
is  something  else,  more  to  my  fancy  if  not  my  reason. 
I  suppose  I've  left  mentioning  it  to  the  last  because  it 
mightn't  appear  so  wise  to  —  others.  Do  you  remem 
ber  that  day  at  the  school  examination?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,"  Parthenope  said,  and  there  flashed  upon 
her  the  vision  of  that  pretty  young  teacher  with  the 
golden  hair  and  the  gold  filling  in  her  teeth.  But  she 
dismissed  it  with  the  instant  perception  that  the  teacher 
could  not  be  in  the  line  of  his  thinking  as  a  vo 
cation. 

"  I  have  always  been  fond  of  the  theatre,"  he  went 
on.  "  I  have  tried  to  make  my  school-boys  realize  the 
beauty  of  truth  in  their  school  theatricals.  I  have  a 
very  dear  friend  who  is  a  great  actor — though  all  the 
world  doesn't  know  it  yet,  as  it  will  some  day.  He  is 
a  great  citizen  too,  and  we  met  first  at  a  reform  meet 
ing,  where  I  heard  him  speak.  He  let  me  come  to  some 
of  his  rehearsals,  where  he  was  training  his  company 
for  one  of  his  plays;  he  is  a  dramatist  as  well  as  an 
actor.  Once,  toward  the  end  of  nay  last  summer's 
vacation,  he  gave  me  a  small  part  for  a  week  to  fill 
a  vacant  place." 

He  had  gone  on  incoherently,  rapidly;  now  lie 
paused  promptingly,  and  she  asked,  "  And  did  you 
like  it?" 

"  It  was  the  greatest  joy  of  my  life,"  he  answered. 
Then,  as  she  remained  silent,  he  added,  rather  blankly  : 

170 


THE  VACATION  OE  THE  KELWYNS 

"  You  don't  like  the  notion?  You  don't  approve  of  the 
theatre  ?" 

"  I  ?  But  I  don't  see  what  I  have  to  do  with  it.  It 
is  very  interesting." 

"  And  you  don't  think  me  a  less  serious  person  be 
cause  I  love  the  theatre  ?" 

"  No,  no ;  I  know  that  there  have  been  very  good 
actors  and  actresses,"  she  said,  from  the  ethicism  which 
must  always  be  the  first  thing  with  her.  "  My  father 
and  mother/'  she  particularized,  "knew  Charlotte 
Cushman  when  they  were  all  living  in  Rome." 

"Did  they?  But  you  mustn't  misunderstand.  If 
I  didn't  love  the  art  of  the  theatre  I'am  afraid  I 
shouldn't  care  for  what  we  call  the  '  good '  it  can  do. 
If  the  art  didn't  come  first  I  would  rather  be  a  min 
ister.  A  minister  must  be  an  actor,  you  know." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?" 

"Yes.     But —     I  had  better  go  on  perhaps — " 

"  Do."     She  could  only  be  monosyllabic. 

"  It's  merely  this :  I  enjoyed  the  acting,  but  first  I 
want  to  live  it.  I  want  to  act  in  a  play  of  my  own. 
I  have  an  idea  for  one.  I  have  the  scene  and  the  per 
sons,  but  I  want  the  experience.  I  will  tell  you  about 
it." 

"  Yes." 

"  Of  course,  it  has  to  be  a  love-story  and  it  has  to  end 
well." 

He  seemed  to  be  consulting  her,  and  she  said,  "  If 
it  isn't  a  tragedy,  of  course  it  must  end  well." 

He  laughed.  "  It  isn't  exactly  a  comedy,  either. 
Life  isn't,  you  know." 

"  No,"  she  said  in  a  sudden  rueful  sense  of  life's 
anomalies. 

"  I  thought  of  having  the  scene  partly  in  a  Shaker 
community;  the  principal  characters  wouldn't  be 
12  171 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Shakers,  but  there  are  features  of  the  Shaker  life  that 
would  be  very  effective  on  the  stage.  Their  danc 
ing-" 

"  But  that's  a  part  of  their  worship !"  she  broke  in, 
horrified,  and  the  more  resolute  not  to  yield  the  point 
because  she  felt  its  temptation  for  him. 

"  That's  true.  But  the  Greek  drama  represented 
moments  of  worship.  The  Agamemnon  of  ^Eschylus, 
you  know,  begins  with  an  act  of  worship."  She  looked 
unconvinced,  and  he  added :  "  To  be  sure,  it  was  their 
own  worship.  I  must  think  it  over;  I  wouldn't  do 
anything  to  wound  the  Shakers  for  the  world." 

"  Of  course  not.     Well  ?"  she  prompted. 

He  nicked  at  a  fly  with  the  limp  whip-lash,  and  then 
he  drew  the  lines  taut  and  started  the  horse  from  his 
sleep-walking  into  a  waking-walk.  "  I  haven't  worked 
it  out  yet  in  my  own  mind.  I  can't  tell  you,  now.  May 
I  tell  you  when  I  come  back  from  the  Centennial  ?" 

"  Does  the  hero  go  to  the  Centennial  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  hero  goes  to  the  Centennial." 

"  That  is  new.    Does  the  heroine  go,  too  ?" 

"  That's  what  I  don't  know  yet ;  I'm  going  to  find 
out.  What  do  you  think  of  my  notion  ?" 

"  Of  going  to  the  Centennial  ?" 

"  No,  the  larger  notion :  living  a  play  and  acting  it." 

She  knew  this  was  what  he  had  meant,  and  she  felt 
that  in  a  manner  they  had  changed  natures;  he  was 
now  direct  and  she  was  elusive. 

"  Oh,  that  is  too  large  a  question  for  me." 

"  You  don't  like  the  notion." 

"  You  mustn't  say  that.  I  don't  like  the  notion  of 
being  judge.  I  don't  feel " — Parthenope  did  not  re 
alize  how  novel  this  attitude  was  for  her — "  compe 
tent  to  judge."  If  the  problem  had  not  been  so  many- 
sided,  if  the  dilemma  had  not  had  so  many  horns,  if 

172 


THE  VACATION  OE  THE  KELWYNS 

she  had  not  felt  so  hound  to  him,  her  answer  might 
have  heen  different.  As  it  was,  she  took  refuge  in  an 
appearance  little  short  of  antipathetic  reluctance. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "I  see  you  don't  like  it.  Well!" 
He  set  his  jaw,  hut  whether  with  the  resolve  to  sub 
mit  to  her  dislike  or  defy  it  she  had  not  quite  the 
courage  to  ask  herself. 


XXI 

"  MB.  EMERANCE  is  going  to  the  Centennial,  he 
says/'  Parthenope  began,  abruptly,  when  she  came  in 
upon  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  sitting  distraught  in  the  great 
dancing-room  of  the  Family  house  which  served  them 
as  a  parlor,  where  she  was  pulling  over  some  sewing. 

"  Is  he  ?"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  answered,  absently. 

"  Yes ;  next  week.  Don't  you  think  it's  rather 
strange  he's  not  mentioned  it  before?" 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  only  heaved  a  long,  inattentive  sigh 
in  answering,  "  Well,  it  may  be  the  best  thing.'* 

"  He  thinks  it  will  decide  his  future  in  life.  He  is 
trying  to  think  whether  he  had  better  be  a  lawyer,  or 
a  minister,  or  an  actor,  or  a  dramatist,  or  keep  on  a 
plain  teacher." 

"An  actor?"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  caught  at  the  word. 
"  What  nonsense !" 

"  He  doesn't  think  so." 

"  When  did  he  say  that?" 

"  Just  now — on  the  way  home.  He  says  he  loves 
the  art  of  the  theatre,  but  he  believes  it  can  do  a  great 
deal  of  good.  I  suppose  it  can,"  the  girl  sighed,  ques- 
tioningly.  "  But  what  I  don't  like  is  any  person's 
being  of  so  many  minds.  He  is  too  experimental  al 
together." 

"  I  don't  know,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said.  "A  good  many 
young  men  must  be  so,  especially  when  they  are  at  all 
gifted." 

"  Is  Mr.  Emerance  so  very  gifted  ?  How  does  he 

174 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

show  it?"  Parthenope  somehow  liked  her  cousin's 
praise  of  him ;  and  she  was  willing  to  provoke  more  of 
it  by  her  blame.  "  If  I  were  a  man  I  should  have 
one  aim  in  life,  and  I  should  keep  to  it  till  I  died.  1 
wouldn't  let  anything  swerve  me  from  it." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  answered,  in  a  certain  remoteness  from 
the  case  of  Mr.  Emerance :  "  It  is  very  hard  to  keep  to 
a  single  purpose — for  men.  The  best  of  them  can't  du 
it.  I  have  just  been  blaming  Elmer  for  his  indecision, 
but  I'm  not  sure  I  was  right.  Men  see  so  many  sides." 

"  Cousin  Elmer  ?  I  supposed  he  had  never  had  but 
one  ideal !" 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  almost  moaned ; 
"  it's  this  terrible  situation.  We  don't  either  of  us 
know  what  to  do  next." 

"  Why,  has  anything  new  happened  $" 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it's  new  or  not.  Yes,  I  sup 
pose  it  is.  Brother  Jasper  has  just  been  here  to  tell 
us  that  he  has  heard  a  bad  account  of  the  man  he  was 
going  to  put  in  the  Kites'  place.  He  has  an  ugly  tem 
per,  and  he  made  a  scandal  where  he  came  from  by 
courting  his  present  wife  while  the  first  was  dying  of 
consumption.  Jasper  must  have  had  it  on  his  con 
science  to  let  us  know;  he  was  worried  in  the  spring 
by  the  Kites'  failure  to  get  ready  for  us.  But  he 
let  us  come,  and  perhaps  now  he  wants  to  make  it  up 
to  us." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  the  girl  said,  from  her  remote* 
ness,  "  that  country  people  are  very  strange  about  theif 
marriages.  No  wonder  the  Shakers  don't  approve  of 
marriage." 

"  Then,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  continued,  ignoring  the  gen 
erality,  "  there  has  been  a  pettifogging  lawyer  here 
from  the  village  to  see  the  Kites.  I'm  afraid  they  are 
going  to  make  trouble  for  us." 

175 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Why,  they  can't  have  you  arrested?" 

"  Not  arrested,  exactly  •  but  they  might  sue  us,  or 
something  like  that.  I  don't  know  what.  But  we 
have  started  in  the  direction  of  putting  them  out  of 
the  place,  and  it  seems  we  can't  stop.  There  seems 
to  he  no  end  to  it  all.  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  drive  ?" 

"  Yes — yes.    Very  pleasant." 

The  two  boys  came  running  up  from  below  and  an 
nounced,  "  The  old  Shaker  gentleman  is  down-stairs." 

"  Elder  Nathaniel  ?"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  conjectured. 
"  You  go  down  and  see  him,  Thennie  dear.  He's 
coming  about  the  Kites,  of  course.  I  don't  believe  I 
could  bear  to  talk  the  situation  over  any  more  just 
now.  When  did  Mr.  Emerance  say  he  was  going  to 
the  Centennial  ?" 

"He  didn't  say  what  day.  It  seems  to  be  rather 
sudden.  But  if  it's  going  to  decide  his  future  for  him, 
he  may  think  he  can't  go  too  soon.  It's  a  good  deal 
for  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  our  Independence  to 
decide!" 

Parthenope  fancied  herself  saying  this  to  Emerance, 
but  it  was  really  addressed  to  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  who  an 
swered,  remotely :  "  Yes,  yes.  Do  go  down  and  see 
what  Elder  Nathaniel  has  to  say." 

The  girl  found  the  old  man  sitting  on  the  threshold- 
stone  gently  fanning  himself  with  his  wide  straw  hat, 
in  the  wind  of  which  his  thin  white  hair  waved  where 
it  hung  long  in  his  neck.  Two  rocking-chairs  stood 
on  the  turf  under  the  great  elm,  and  "  Let  us  sit  down 
here,  Elder  Nathaniel,"  she  said,  leading  the  way  to 
them ;  "  that  stone  is  so  uncomfortable." 

"  Oh,  nay,"  he  returned ;  but  he  followed  her,  and 
they  sat  down  together  facing  each  other.  "  I  am 
sorry  Friend  Kelwyn  is  not  here.  The  boys  said  he 

had  gone  to  Boston." 

176 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Yes,  and  Mrs.  Kelwyn  asked  me  to  excuse  her 
for  not  coming  down;  she  is  very  tired." 

"  She  has  been  worried  hy  what  Jasper  told  them 
about  those  folks  he  was  going  to  put  here  V 

"A  little.  But,  Elder  Nathaniel"— she  left  the 
question  of  the  Kelwyns  in  the  larger  interest  of  a 
general  inquiry — "  are  all  the  married  people  about 
here  divorced,  or  living  unhappily,  or  something  ?" 

"  Oh,  nay,"  the  Elder  answered,  with  a  certain  wari 
ness.  "  There  are  many  couples  here  living  rightly 
in  the  earthly  order." 

"  Because,"  she  explained,  "  I  never  heard  of  such 
things  in  Boston." 

"  People  know  more  about  each  other  in  the  coun 
try,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  asked,  "  that  there  is  just  as 
much  unhappiness  among  the  married  people  in  Bos 
ton,  only  we  don't  know  it  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  didn't  say  that." 

"  Then  "  —  she  went  forward  at  a  great  bound — 
"  why  don't  the  Shakers  approve  of  marriage  ?" 

"  We  approve  of  it  in  the  earthly  order,"  he  an 
swered.  "  But  we  believe  the  angelic  life  is  better.  In 
the  resurrection  there  is  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in 
marriage." 

"  Of  course,  after  you  are  dead — " 

"  Nay,  we  think  we  are  continuously  alive  to  all 
eternity.  In  the  Family  the  heavenly  order  is  hon 
ored;  in  the  world-outside,  the  earthly  order.  But  we 
do  not  condemn  the  earthly  order.  When  we  see  a 
married  pair  living  peaceably  and  affectionately  to 
gether  we  respect  them." 

"  Then,  why  don't  more  of  them  live  that  way  to 
gether?"  As  if  she  felt  the  futility  of  her  question 
the  girl  smiled  forlornly. 

177 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

The  old  man  smiled  compassionately.  "  Nay,  I  can 
not  tell  you  that.  Perhaps  it  is  because  they  are  too 
ignorant  of  life  and  expect  too  much  of  each  other. 
They  are  mostly  very  young  and  inexperienced." 

"  I  see/'  the  girl  said ;  "  you  think  they  ought  to 
wait." 

"  Nay,  if  they  waited  they  might  not  wish  to  marry 
at  all,"  the  Elder  suggested. 

"  That  is  true,"  she  sighed ;  "  it  seems  a  difficult 
problem.  They  certainly  ought  to  know  each  other  a 
long  time." 

She  fell  into  a  troubled  muse,  from  which  she  was 
startled  after  what  seemed  to  her  a  much  greater  in 
terval  than  it  really  was  by  his  saying,  "  My  own 
partner  and  I  had  known  each  other  from  childhood." 

"Why,  Elder  Nathaniel!"  she  cried.  "Were  you 
ever  married?" 

"  Oh,  yee ;  we  had  a  family  of  children  when  we 
were  led  to  enter  upon  the  angelic  life  here.  It  was 
quite  a  little  trial  for  us  to  separate." 

"  You  had  a  family  ?"  She  started  forward  in  her 
chair.  "  Did  you  have  any — girls  ?" 

"  Yee ;  we  had  three  daughters  and  two  sons." 

"  And  what  became — did  they — were  they  gathered 
in,  too?" 

"  They  were  children.  The  boys  followed  me  into 
the  Church  Family  and  the  girls  went  with  their 
mother  into  the  Family  that  lived  here."  He  looked 
up  and  around  at  the  great  old  house  before  which  they 
sat.  "  The  Family  was  fairly  large  then." 

"  Elder  Nathaniel !"  the  girl  said.  After  a  moment 
of  amaze,  she  asked,  "And  are  you  all  living  in  the 
Church  Family  now  ?" 

"Nay;  my  wife  died  before  the  Family  left  this 
house." 

178 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Oh  !"  the  girl  said,  tenderly. 

As  if  her  compassion  made  it  easier  for  him  to  go 
on,  he  continued  :  "  My  daughters  got  to  feeling  foolish 
about  some  of  the  young  men  in  the  Family  and  ran 
away  to  be  married.  One  of  my  sons  died,  and  the 
other  left  us  for  the  world-outside.  You  have  heard 
of  Mabel  Northland?" 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  the  name/'  Parthenope  said, 
suddenly  inattentive  to  the  general  inquiry.  "  Isn't 
she  some  kind  of  actress  ?" 

"  Yee  ;  he  is  with  her  company." 

"  And  —  and  does  he  play,  too  ?    Is  he  on  the  stage  ?" 

"  "Nay  ;  he  is  her  press  agent,  as  they  call  it." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  and  she  sat  staring  at  Elder  Na 
thaniel,  who  softly  passed  his  tongue  over  his  lower 
lip  as  he  drooped  forward  in  his  chair.  "  Elder  Na 
thaniel,"  she  began  again,  "  I  am  afraid  I  have  pained 
you  —  made  you  pain  yourself." 

"  Oh,  nay  ;  it  is  a  long  time  ago.  Now  and  then 
my  son  comes  to  see  me.  My  daughters  are  settled  in 
the  West.  They  are  well-to-do,  and  in  the  earthly 
order  they  are  happy  for  what  I  know." 

"  Yes,"  she  vaguely  assented.  "  Do  you  —  do  you 
like  your  son  being  connected  with  the  theatre?" 

"  I  do  not  mind  that.  When  Friend  Mabel  was  in 
Boston  last  I  went  down  to  see  her  act;  he  wished  it. 
I  thought  it  was  a  foolish  play;  but  the  theatre  is  no 
worse  than  other  things  in  the  world-outside.  I  could 
see  how  it  might  do  some  good  with  the  right  kind  of 


_ 

"  Did  you  ?"  she  asked,  with  an  unreasoned  gratitude. 
"  You  mean  with  a  piece  that  teaches  a  good  lesson  ?" 

"  Yee.  Any  piece  that  shows  the  life  of  the  world- 
cutside  as  it  really  is  would  teach  a  good  lesson. 
Friend  Mabel's  piece  was  foolish  because  it  did  not 

179 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

do  that.  It  pretended  that  wHen  the  young  folks  who 
had  got  foolish  about  each  other  were  married  they 
were  going  to  he  happy  because  they  were  married." 

"  I  see/'  Parthenope  said.  "  I  suppose  that  is  the 
way  people  want  plays  to  end/'  she  reflected.  "  Thank 
you  very  much,  Elder  Nathaniel." 

She  sat  silent,  and  the  Elder  was  silent  too,  but  he 
did  not  offer  to  go  at  once.  When  at  last  he  made  a 
movement  to  go  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  been 
hinting  him  away. 

"  Elder  Nathaniel/'  she  asked,  more  abruptly  than 
perhaps  she  would  if  she  had  not  wished  to  disabuse 
him  of  any  such  suspicion,  "  if  your  daughters — or 
one  of  them — had  wished  to  marry  an  actor,  would  you 
have  felt  worse  than  for  her  to  marry  a  Shaker  ?" 

"  When  they  married,"  he  answered,  severely,  "  they 
ceased  to  be  Shakers." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  I  don't  mean  Shakers,  exactly.  I 
mean  some  other  kind  of  profession." 

"  Nav,  I  cannot  answer  that.  I  have  never  thought 
of  it." 

"  Of  course  not.  What  you  would  wish  them  to  do 
would  be  to  think  very  seriously  before  they  married 
at  all." 

"  Nay,  the  thinking  seriously  might  better  the  case, 
but  it  would  not  change  its  nature.  I  could  have  had 
no  wish  but  that  they  should  remain  Shakers." 

"  Yes,  I  know.    You  must  think  I  am  very  stupid." 

He  had  risen,  but  he  hesitated,  as  if  he  thought  she 
was  going  to  say  more.  Then  he  said :  "  I  must  be 
going,  now.  I  bid  you  good- afternoon." 

She  watched  him  up  the  path  that  led  toward  the 
Church  Family  house  through  the  woods.  Then  she 
went  indoors  to  her  cousin,  whom  she  found  still  busy 
putting  the  contents  of  her  work-basket  in  order. 

180 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Well,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  asked,  without  looking  up, 
"  what  did  Elder  Nathaniel  have  to  say  ?" 

"  He  wasn't  so  outright  as  that  Brother  from  Can- 
bury;  but  I  believe  he  feels  just  the  same  about  it." 

"  Feels  the  same  ?"  Now  Mrs.  Kelwyn  looked  up. 
"About  what?" 

"  About  marriage,"  PartHenope  answered. 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  stared.  "  I  thought  you  were  talking 
about  those  people  Jasper  proposed  putting  in  here?" 

"  Oh,  we  were"  the  girl  answered,  all  too  compli 
antly.  "  That  was  what  led  up  to  it.  Erom  what  he 
said  I  shouldn't  think  it  would  be  easy  to  find  any 
nice  married  couple  to  keep  house  for  you.  His  own 
daughters  ran  away  with  Shaker  Brothers  and  got 
married,  and  his  son  is  the  press  agent  of  that  Mabel 
Northland  the  actress." 

"  Parthenope  Brook,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"  I  forgot.  You  didn't  know  that  Elder  Nathaniel 
came  here  with  a  family  of  his  own  ?" 

"  No.  But  what  in  the  world  has  that  got  to  do  with 
somebody  in  the  place  of  the  Kites  ?" 

Parthenope  had  to  own  that  directly  it  Had  notH- 
ing  to  do.  She  escaped  from  the  question  with  whicli 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  must  have  visited  her  in  a  less  distracted 
moment,  on  the  plea  that  she  would  have  to  see  what 
she  could  get  for  supper,  if  Mrs.  Kite  would  let  her 
get  anything  at  all. 

The  daze  in  which  she  had  returned  from  her  drive 
with  Emerance  seemed  to  have  been  deepened  by  her 
efforts  to  escape  from  it.  She  had  got  no  light  upon 
herself  either  from  Mrs.  Kelwyn  or  Elder  Nathaniel. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  in  a  conditional  clearness  as  to 
her  part  in  the  event  which  she  forecast  now  this  way 
and  now  that. 


XXII 

MRS.  KITE  was  less  difficult  than  when  she  first  re 
turned  from  her  visit  to  her  friends.  She  had  ap 
parently  relinquished  the  ideals  they  had  inspired,  or 
the  prospect  of  change  in  her  relations  to  the  Kelwyns 
had  softened  her  toward  them.  She  now  let  Parthen- 
ope  use  her  kitchen  at  will,  and  sat  by,  watching  her 
and  talking  of  what  she  and  her  family  should  do  next, 
and  how  soon  they  would  have  to  leave  when  the  crops 
had  been  appraised  and  everything  was  settled. 

She  had  taken  no  steps  toward  removal,  but  the 
rumor  of  the  Kites'  going  had  spread  so  widely  that 
Kelwyn  had  received  three  offers  from  families  who 
were  willing  to  take  their  place.  It  was  more  and 
more  clear  that  in  the  neighbors'  estimation  the  Kites 
had  wasted  an  enviable  opportunity.  Upon  the  whole, 
the  knowledge  of  this  public  opinion  had  comforted 
and  strengthened  Kelwyn,  and  on  his  return  from  Bos 
ton  he  professed  an  appetite  for  supper  such  as  he  had 
not  shown  for  breakfast.  He  had  driven  from  the 
station  to  the  Church  Family,  and  Emerance  had  come 
home  with  him,  but  he  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Kite's  door. 
He  seemed  to  be  helping  Parthenope  with  the  supper, 
and  Mrs.  Kite  joined  them  in  bringing  in  the  dishes 
from  the  kitchen.  All  was,  in  fact,  so  quite  as  it  had 
been  at  its  best  a  month  before  that  Mrs.  Kelwyn  could 
not  believe  in  the  events  which  had  threatened  a  dif 
ferent  catastrophe.  Kite  returned  from  his  fields  with 
the  big  boy  and  Kaney;  and,  after  they  had  eaten  their 

182 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

evening  meal,  they  came  out  and  lounged  upon  the 
grass  before  the  kitchen  door  and  talked  and  smoked. 
When  Kite  rose  to  go  and  give  a  last  look  at  his  horses 
for  the  night,  he  called  over  his  shoulder  to  Kelwyn, 
where  he  sat  with  his  family  group,  "  Want  I  should 
have  you  yer  team  ready  to  go  to  the  Shakers  after 
breakfast?" 

"  What  does  it  mean,  Elmer  ?"  his  wife  entreated. 
"  Surely  they're  not  expecting  to  stay,  are  they,  after 
all  that's  been  done  ?" 

"  It  seems  like  a  convulsive  effort  to  be  commonly 
decent,"  he  assented,  in  a  puzzle  with  the  fact. 

"  Well,  it's  sickening.  She's  been  hanging  about, 
offering  to  do  things,  since  you  went  this  morning.  Do 
you  suppose  they've  just  realized  it  ?" 

"  Perhaps  they've  heard  of  the  general  willingness 
to  replace  them,  and  have  begun  to  think  they  are  los 
ing  something  worth  having.  I  wish  they'd  thought  so 
sooner,"  Kelwyn  sighed,  with  a  look  up  at  the  great 
friendly  house.  "  If  they'd  only  been  half  possible !" 

"  Yes.  And  now  it's  too  late.  They  must  go.  You 
see,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  see." 

Parthenope  and  Emerance  had  been  strolling  down 
the  dimming  road,  and  now  they  came  back  and  stood 
expectant. 

"  It's  the  usual  topic,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  explained. 
"  We  are  wishing  that  the  Kites  wouldn't  try  to  do, 
since  they  can't  do,  and  they're  plainly  trying  to  do. 
We  hate  to  turn  them  out  of  the  best  home  they've  ever 
had." 

"  Especially,"  Kelwyn  added,  "  as  we  .  don't  know 
«vhom  to  put  in  their  place." 

"!N"o,  Elmer,  I  won't  let  you  attribute  a  selfish 
motive  to  yourself." 

183 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Then,  say  a  scientific  motive.  We  are  simply  con 
forming  to  the  course  of  civilization,  Mr.  Emerance. 
We  are  the  stronger  race  pushing  the  weaker  to  the 
wall." 

Emerance  consented,  with  a  dreamy  air,  "  That 
does  seem  the  order  of  history." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  say  that,  Mr.  Emerance," 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  returned,  in  a  note  of  indignation.  "  I 
should  think  any  dispassionate  person  would  say  we 
had  been  pushed  to  the  wall,  even  if  we  are  the  stronger 
race." 

"  Oh,"  the  young  man  apologized,  "  I  meant  that 
some  such  event  is  always  inevitable.  People  seem  to 
talk  up,  or  they  talk  down,  to  one  another,  and  not  face 
to  face  on  the  same  level.  So  there  is  never  a  perfect 
understanding  between  them." 

"  Very  well,  then,  Mr.  Emerance,  we  will  make  you 
our  ambassador  to  the  Kites.  I  thought  we  had  ex 
plained  ourselves  fully  from  the  very  beginning. 
There  has  been  talking  enough,  but  perhaps  we  don't 
speak  the  same  language.  If  you  know  theirs — " 

"  I  can't  be  sure,"  Emerance  returned,  "  and  as  your 
ambassador  I  might  make  bad  worse.  It  might  be 
better  not  to  interrupt  the  order  of  history." 

Parthenope  took  no  part  in  the  discussion,  which 
ended  here  with  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  saying,  from  the  as 
perity  of  spent  nerves,  "  Well,  I  must  go  in  and  put 
the  boys  to  bed." 

"  I'll  go  and  help  you,"  Parthenope  volunteered. 
"  Good-night."  She  did  not  specialize  Emerance,  but 
he  answered,  "  Good-night,"  as  if  she  had.  When  she 
was  alone  with  Mrs.  Kelwyn  she  said,  "  I  don't  believe 
he  meant  anything  more  than  to  agree  to  what  Cousin 
Elmer  said." 

"  Oh,  I  knew  that." 

184 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Then  I  don't  understand  why  you  were  so  severe." 

In  the  ensuing  days,  which  now  prolonged  them 
selves  into  a  fortnight,  Kelwyn  hesitated  over  his  duty 
to  himself  and  family,  which  he  felt  to  be  more  and 
more  obvious.  It  was  even  a  duty  to  the  Kites,  es 
pecially  when  they  did  worse  than  usual,  if  there  could 
be  any  exception  that  was  worse  than  the  ordinary 
course  of  their  inefficiency  and  inadequacy.  But  a 
thing  that  clarified  itself  more  satisfactorily  to  Kel 
wyn  than  his  obvious  duty  was  the  wrong  he  was  suf 
fering  at  the  hands  of  the  Shakers,  or,  rather,  the  hands 
of  Brother  Jasper.  In  the  slow  and  painful  evolution 
of  his  thoughts  he  realized  that  Brother  Jasper  was 
standing  from  under  and  letting  him  take  the  whole 
responsibility  of  dispossessing  the  Kites.  He  was  let 
ting  them  believe,  and  logically  letting  them  say,  that 
they  could  have  got  on  with  other  people,  and  if  they 
could  not  get  on  with  the  Kelwyns,  then  they  were 
being  turned  out  of  house  and  home  because  the  Kel 
wyns  were  unreasonable  and  unjust. 

The  time  came  when  Kelwyn  resolved  he  would  en 
dure  the  state  of  things  no  longer,  and  declared  that 
Brother  Jasper  should  take  his  full  share  in  ending 
it. 

"  Don't  do  anything  rash,  Elmter,"  his  wife  cautioned 
him,  from  admiration  of  the  inflexible  decision  she 
saw  in  his  face. 

"  Rash  doesn't  seem  just  the  word  for  a  delay  of  six 
or  seven  weeks.  But  rash  or  not,  I  am  going  to  see 
Jasper  at  once  and  have  it  over." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  will  act  prudently,"  she  cautioned 
further,  from  that  vague  necessity  wives  feel  of  hold 
ing  their  husbands  back  from  a  step  they  have  reached 
in  common. 

Kelwyn  did  not  answer,  but  he  got  his  hat  and  stick. 

185 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  You  are  going  to  walk  ?"  she  temporized. 

"  That  is  what  the  horse  would  do  if  I  could  get 
him,  but  I  believe  Kite  has  taken  him  for  his  work/' 
Kelwyn  answered,  and  without  more  words  he  set  off 
through  the  woods  to  the  Church  Family. 

At  the  Office  the  Sisters  told  him  that  Jasper  was 
at  the  barn  hitching  up,  and  Kelwyn  found  him  there 
buckling  the  holdbacks  of  the  harness  round  the  shafts. 

"  Brother  Jasper,"  he  said,  without  waiting  for  any 
form  of  greeting,  "  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  to  Kite 
where  he  is  working  and  hear  what  I  have  to  say  to 
him." 

"  I  was  just  tackling  up  to  go  and  see  some  folks 
we  were  going  to  put  in  for  you,"  Brother  Jasper  said, 
looking  at  him  over  the  horse's  back. 

"  Well,  never  mind  that  now.  We  will  cross  that 
river  when  we  come  to  it.  Now  you  have  got  to  face 
Kite  with  me  and  confirm  what  I  say;  you  have  got 
to  take  your  share  in  turning  him  out.  You  put  him 


in." 


Brother  Jasper  made  no  answer,  but  he  scolded  the 
horse  with  unshakerly  violence  in  terms  which,  if  they 
had  been  translated  into  the  parlance  of  the  world-out- 
side,  would  have  been  of  the  effect  of  swearing,  while 
he  went  on  buckling  the  shaft-strap  under  the  horse, 
running  the  reins  through  the  rings  on  the  hames  to 
the  bridle,  and  then  giving  a  final  pull  at  the  whole 
harness  to  make  sure  that  everything  was  secure.  "  If 
you'll  get  in,  now,"  he  said  at  last,  and  he  mounted 
beside  Kelwyn  and  drove  off  to  the  meadow  where  Kite 
was  at  work,  and  called  him  away  from  the  other 
mowers. 

Kite  came  up  and  sat  down  under  th'e  tree  where 
Kelwyn  was  waiting  for  him,  and  took  out  his  knife 

and  began  whittling  a  stick.     He  was  pale,  and  to 

186 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

Kelwyn's  eyes  hideous  with  hate,  so  that  Kelwyn  was 
glad  that  he  sat  aloof  in  the  buggy,  and  sorry  that  he 
had  thrown  his  revolver  into  the  well ;  it  would  at  least 
have  been  a  show  of  weapon  against  weapon.  But  as 
it  was,  he  would  not  fear. 

"  Mr.  Kite,"  he  began,  "  I  hear  that  you  are  holding 
me  responsible  for  your  going  away,  and  I  have  brought 
Brother  Jasper  with  me  to  tell  you  that  it  is  he  who 
is  putting  you  out  of  the  house,"  and  at  this  unsparing 
statement  Jasper  winced,  and  his  face  twisted  itself  in 
an  expression  of  his  helpless  inner  protest. 

Kite  whittled  furiously  at  his  stick,  cutting  large 
slices  from  it,  while  Kelwyn  followed  his  blade  in 
fearful  fascination.  "  I'd  like  to  know  what's  gone 
wrong  with  you  now  ?  Was  it  that  steak  I  got  ye  for 
your  dinner  yesterday  ?  It  was  the  best  piece  of  steak 
in  the  meat-store,  and  you  can  ask  Billings  himself." 

"  We  won't  go  into  particulars,"  Kelwyn  said.  "  All 
there  is  of  it  is  you  won't  do,  and  you  don't  seem  to 
want  to  do." 

"  !Nb,  I  guess  you  don't  want  to  go  into  particulars," 
Kite  retorted.  "  There  ain't  a  single  damn  thing  ye 
got  against  us.  You're  mighty  hard  folks  to  suit;  no 
boarder  of  mine  ever  complained  before.  You  may 
bet  your  sweet  life  I  wouldn't  take  ye  another  year 
for  all  the  money  you  got,  even  if  you  got  enough  to 
pay  a  decent  price  for  your  board." 

Kelwyn  ignored  the  insinuation  of  his  poverty,  so 
far  as  open  recognition  went,  but  in  the  sting  of  the 
insult  he  forgot  the  stately  position  he  had  taken.  He 
now  went  into  the  particulars  of  the  wrongs  he  had 
suffered,  and  he  enumerated  them  with  a  volubility 
worthy  of  a  woman.  He  was  not  stayed  by  Kite's 
denial  of  every  instance,  and,  as  happens  with  people 
who  try  to  free  their  minds  in  anger,  he  found  more 
13  187 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

and  -more  rancor  in  his.  rAt  last  they  both  stopped, 
breathless,  and  wiped  the  drops  of  fury  from  their 
faces. 

It  was  very  squalid,  and  Kelwyn  felt  the  shame  of 
the  squabble  the  more  because  he  suspected  that  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  Brother  Jasper  thought  he  had 
been  too  exacting.  When  he  got  breath  for  a  renewal 
of  the  dispute,  he  said,  some  octaves  lower  than  before : 

"  It  isn't  a  question  of  another  year ;  it's  a  question 
of  this  year ;  and  Brother  Jasper  will  tell  you  that  you 
are  going,  not  because  you  can't  suit  us,  but  because 
you  are  not  fit  to  take  boarders  at  all." 

Brother  Jasper  did  not  speak,  and  Kelwyn  had  to 
ask  him,  "  Is  that  so,  Brother  Jasper  ?" 

Then  from  Brother  Jasper's  writhing  features  a 
kind  of  small  scream  emitted  itself  in  a  sharp  "  Yee  " 
that  was  like  the  cry  of  a  sufferer  in  having  a  tooth 
drawn. 

"  All  right,  Jasper,"  Kite  said,  rising  to  his  feet, 
with  the  open  knife  in  his  hand,  to  which  Kelwyn's 
eyes  still  clung.  He  snapped  it  to  and  slipped  it  into 
his  pocket.  "  I  know  where  you  stand."  Then  he 
added,  with  a  glare  at  Kelwyn,  "  We'll  see  what  the 
law  o'  this  is,"  and  hulked  away  to  join  the  mowers, 
who  had  been  listening  their  best  from  the  other  side 
of  the  meadow. 

Jasper  remounted  to  the  seat  beside  Kelwyn,  but  at 
a  remove  which  symbolized  the  moral  gulf  between 
them. 

"  Want  I  should  drive  ye  home  ?"  he  asked,  but  the 
brief  transit  was  rather  lengthened  than  shortened  by 
the  "  Yees  "  and  "  Nays  "  with  which  he  responded  to 
the  points  of  justification  which  Kelwyn  turned  toward 
him. 

In  fact,  he  left  Kelwyn  to  feel  that  he  had  played 

188 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

a  cruel  part,  not  only  toward  him,  but  toward  Kite, 
from  whom  he  had  torn  every  tatter  of  self-respect  in 
his  effort  to  share  the  responsibility  wtith  Brother 
Jasper.  It  needed  all  the  resentment  he  could  heat  up 
in  his  heart  to  support  him  in  the  retrospect  of  an 
action  which  had  seemed  to  him  so  clear  and  right 
before  he  took  it. 

His  wife's  praise  of  his  courage  and  firmness  failed 
of  effect,  and  he  was  still  ashamed,  rather  than  proud, 
of  his  part  when  he  met  Elder  Nathaniel  on  his  way 
to  the  post-office  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  Elder  ex 
pressed  his  personal  regret  for  the  hopeless  pass  tho 
affair  had  come  to.  It  appeared  that  something  like 
a  Family  meeting  had  been  held,  and  that  the  Office 
Sisters  had  pursuantly  gone  to  see  Mrs.  Kite  and 
urged  her  to  advise  her  husband  to  go  quietly.  They 
had  made  her  understand  that  the  Family  was  de 
termined  to  give  the  house  to  some  one  who  could 
satisfy  the  Kelwyns,  and  that  it  was  useless  for  her 
to  hold  out  against  them,  and  she  had  admitted  the 
wisdom  of  this.  "  But,"  Elder  Nathaniel  said,  "  she 
thought  she  had  done  everything  she  could  to  please 
you,  and,  if  she  could  only  find  out  where  she  hadn't 
suited,  she  was  sure  she  could  make  it  right.  I  have 
no  doubt  now  that  they  will  give  up  peaceably,  and 
we  shall  have  no  further  trouble." 

If  this  was  not  soothing  to  Kelwyn's  feeling,  in  the 
circumstances,  Mrs.  Kite's  return  to  her  futile  efforts 
to  please  him  and  his  family  added  to  his  self-reproach. 
He  found  greater  comfort  in  Kite's  sullen  attitude, 
where  he  held  aloof  from  all  part  in  her  endeavors, 
and  the  whole  Sunday  morning  that  followed,  when 
none  of  the  Kelwyns  had  heart  for  going  to  the  Shaker 
meeting,  they  saw  him  sulking  at  the  barn-door.  In 

the  afternoon  he  drove  about  in  a  close,  warm  rain  with 

189 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

two  shabby  friends,  as  if  there  were  some  sort  of  con 
spiracy  afoot;  but  there  was,  apparently,  no  appeal  to 
the  law,  and  Kelwyn  heard  next  day  from  the  Shakers 
that  Kite  had  agreed  to  go  out ;  that  referees  were  com 
ing  that  week  to  appraise  his  crops  and  decide  what 
would  be  due  him  from  the  Family.  In  the  mean 
time  Mrs.  Kite  resumed  her  confidence  in  their  friend 
ly  relations,  and  talked  to  Parthenope  as  if  they  were 
going  on  together  indefinitely.  The  storm  had  so  far 
cleared  the  sky  that  in  the  ensuing  calm  a  sort  of 
toleration,  if  not  kindness,  grew  up  between  the  rival 
camps,  and  in  this  truce  the  Kelwyns  could  not  refuse 
to  acknowledge  to  themselves  that  the  Kites  were  not 
wilfully  bad.  At  the  worst,  they  questioned,  were  they 
not  ignorant  and  helpless?  It  was  true  that  the  re 
newal  of  the  momentary  amenities  of  the  past  were 
wholly  through  the  woman's  efforts,  but  the  man  was 
not  actively  offensive. 

A  night  or  two  after  Kelwyn's  meeting  with  Kite 
in  the  meadow,  Parthenope,  leaning  from  her  window 
and  looking  out  into  the  dark,  heard  her  cousin  and 
Emerance  talking  in  their  chairs  under  the  elm.  Kel 
wyn  was  saying :  "  It  is  strange  how  difficult  it  is  to 
withdraw  from  any  human  relation,  no  matter  how 
provisional.  There  is  always  an  unexpected  wrench, 
a  rending  of  fibres,  a  pang  of  remorse." 

The  girl  knew  very  well  that  Kelwyn  was  think 
ing  of  his  quarrel  with  Kite,  but  she  did  not  know 
how  he  was  always  trying  to  pull  himself  up  from 
the  degradation  of  an  encounter  which  Mrs.  Kel 
wyn  had  represented  to  her  as  something  almost 
heroic,  and  from  which  he  had  barely  escaped  with 
his  life. 

She  was  more  interested  in  what  Emerance  an 
swered.  "  Yes,  there  seems  to  be  a  quality  of  death 

190 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

in  every  human  parting.  When  we  go  a  journey  and 
leave  friends  behind  it  is  like  a  voluntary  dying." 

"  But  I  didn't  mean  that  exactly/'  Kelwyn  returned, 
in  a  note  of  vexation.  "  I  meant  merely  the  termina 
tion  of  the  common  concords,  agreements,  partner 
ships.'7 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  was  following  a  suggestion  from  your 
thought  rather  than  the  thought  itself.  But  if  we  carry 
your  thought  further  to  the  most  enduring  of  provision 
al  relations — " 

He  paused,  and  Kelwyn  asked,  "  To  marriage  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  have  often  wondered  how  the  parties  to  a 
divorce,  people  who  had  once  cared  for  each  other, 
really  felt  when  it  came  to  the  point  of  severing." 
Parthcnope  found  herself  listening  acutely,  eavesdrop 
ping,  as  it  were,  with  all  her  might,  though  there  was 
nothing  that  she  would  have  abhorred  more  than  eaves 
dropping.  "  I  have  wondered  whether  there  wasn't 
always  a  touch  of  regret,  a  lingering  kindness  as  they 
had  when  their  outlook  was  the  brightest." 

This  struck  Parthenope  as  beautiful,  and  she  was 
vexed  more  than  she  could  have  expressed  with  Kel- 
wyn's  answering  commonplace :  "  Every  one  has  good 
qualities  as  well  as  bad.  No  doubt  they  see  each  other's 
good  qualities  at  such  a  time.  But  if  there  was  any 
appreciable  kindness,  perhaps  there  would  be  no  di 
vorces." 

"  No,"  the  young  man  assented ;  and  then  there  was 
a  little  silence  in  which  Parthenope  tried  to  follow  his 
course  of  thinking  back  to  its  real  source,  as  she  had 
so  easily  followed  Kelwyn's.  They  knew  so  little  of 
Emerance;  he  might  easily,  in  his  obscure  past,  have 
been  married  and  divorced ;  or  much  more  probably  he 
might  have  been  engaged,  and  in  the  image  of  a  divorce 
he  might  have  been  brooding  on  a  broken  engagement. 

191 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  But  to  return  to  the  original  point,"  Kelwyn  said, 
in  breaking  the  silence,  "  I  think  that  at  the  end  of 
every  relation  in  life  there  is  a  sort  of  blind  desire, 
unreasonable  and  illogical,  to  have  it  on  again.  If  it 
ends  abruptly  or  inimically  this  is  especially  the  case. 
We  go  back  of  the  cause  of  disagreement  and  find 
potentialities  of  continued  reciprocity.  We  see  defects 
in  ourselves  and  excellences  in  our  antagonist — if  it  has 
come  to  antagonism — and  we  wish  we  could  try  it  all 
over  again.  I  am  speaking  in  the  abstract,  of  course." 
Kelwyn  recovered  himself  from  a  position  that  gave 
too  much  away  to  his  own  consciousness.  "  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  might  be  quite  the  other  way,  and 
we  be  very  glad  to  have  the  thing  over  for  good 
and  all." 

"  Oh  yes,"  Emerance  said,  and  then  there  was  a 
sound  of  rising  and  of  feet  stirring  in  the  dark. 

"  I  think  we'll  take  these  chairs  in.  It's  so  very 
close  that  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  there  were  a 
storm  before  morning.  Good-night,"  she  heard  Kel 
wyn  say,  and  then  Emerance  answer: 

"Good-night."  But  he  added:  "I  don't  think  I'll 
go  in  just  yet.  It  is  pleasanter  outdoors  than  in,  such 
a  night.  Don't  trouble  about  the  chairs;  I'll  bring 
them." 

"  All  right,"  Kelwyn  said,  and  now  Parthenope  was 
aware  of  Emerance  sitting  there  in  the  dark  alone  and 
thinking.  What  was  he  thinking?  She  would  have 
liked  to  know.  If  it  had  been  possible  to  eavesdrop 
his  thoughts  she  would  have  done  it ;  people  often  tried 
to  penetrate  one  another's  thoughts,  and  she  never 
heard  that  it  was  wrong  or  even  disgraceful.  She 
fancied  keeping  him  company  in  the  dark  where  he 
sat  outside,  and  she  held  a  long  tacit  colloquy  with  him 
on  the  most  serious  things.  They  were  both  very  seri- 

192 


THE  VACATION  OF,  THE  KELWYNS 

ous.  They  were  confidential.  They  told  each  other 
the  history  of  their  lives.  At  last  she  lay  down  on 
her  bed  in  the  close,  hot  air,  but  she  did  not  know  she 
had  slept  when  about  midnight  she  was  awakened  by  a 
wild  screaming,  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  dwell 
ing  of  their  nearest  neighbor,  an  old  woman,  who  lived 
a  little  way  down  the  road,  alone  in  her  two  rooms. 
Parthenope  had  been  in  during  the  forenoon  to  see  her, 
and  had  found  her  lying  on  her  high  old-fashioned  bed, 
with  the  sabre  of  her  son,  a  soldier  of  the  Civil  War, 
crossed  over  a  withered  wreath,  at  the  bed-head.  She 
said  she  was  not  feeling  just  well,  and  now  the  girl 
imagined  those  shrieks  coming  from  her.  She  roused 
her  cousins  and  straggled  forth  with  them  into  the 
cloud-broken  moonlight  that  now  hid  and  now  rendered 
picturesque  their  common  dishabille.  The  Kites  were 
up  and  out  with  a  lantern;  Emerance  was  there,  too, 
and  they  joined  forces  for  the  succor  of  their  neighbor. 
Kite  went  to  the  window  with  his  lantern  and  rapped 
on  the  pane,  while  his  wife  asked,  in  her  sweet  treble, 
"  Are  you  sick,  Mrs.  Ager  ?" 

After  an  interval,  as  if  for  waking  and  understand 
ing,  the  old  woman  answered,  No,  she  was  very  much 
better. 

Then  Mrs.  Kite  said,  "  We  thought  we  heard  you 
screaming.  Well,  good-night." 

"  I  guess,"  her  husband  said,  tolerantly,  to  Par 
thenope,  "  that  it  was  a  screech-owl  we  heard.  But 
sometime  there's  goin'  to  be  trouble  if  that  old  fool 
keeps  on  livin'  by  herself  there  and  these  tramps  get 
much  thicker.  She'd  ought  to  be  put  somewheres,  but 
as  long  as  she's  got  enough  to  live  on  the  selectmen 
can't  touch  her.  She'll  die  in  that  shanty  of  her'n 
somie  night  if  she  don't  get  killed  first." 

The   Kites   went  back  to   their  place  beyond  the 

193 


THE    .VACATION    OF    THE    KELWYNS 

kitchen,  and  when  they  Had  disappeared  with  their 
lantern  the  Kelwyns  lingered  a  moment  at  their  door, 
looking  up  into  the  moon-broken  clouds.  Parthenope 
sat  down  on  the  threshold-stone.  "  I  am  not  going  in 
just  yet,"  she  said ;  "  it's  choking  in  my  room,  and  it's 
not  going  to  rain." 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  don't  want  to  go  in,"  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  conceded.  "  But  I  don't  like  your  staying  out 
here  alone,  Thennie,"  she  added. 

A  cloud  had  passed  over  the  moon,  and  it  could  not 
be  seen  that  Emerance  had  sat  down  at  the  other  end 
of  the  threshold,  but  his  voice  placed  him  when  he  said, 
"  I  will  stay  and  protect  her  if  you'll  let  me,  Mrs.  Kel* 
wyn." 

"  I  shall  not  need  any  protection,"  Parthenope  an 
swered. 

"  Oh,  well,  then,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  vaguely,  as 
she  led  her  husband  indoors. 

Parthenope  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence  to 
which  she  was  left  with  Emerance  in  a  murmured, 
"  How  perfectly  still  it  is." 

"  Yes ;  we  only  need  some  sound  to  make  the  stillness 
evident,  just  as  we  need  some  one  with  us  when  we 
wish  to  feel  ourselves  alone." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  need  any  one,"  she  demurred, 
"  to  help  me  realize  that  I'm  alone." 

"  I  didn't  mean  you  did.  When  I  said  we  I  meant 
I." 

"  That  is  rather  trivial,  Mr.  Emerance,  if  you'll  al 
low  me  to  say  so." 

"  I  like  to  have  you  frank  with  me.  Do  you  think 
that  I  am  trivial  ?" 

"  "Not  always.  But  often  enough  to  provoke  people 
with  you." 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  right,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  which 

194 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

she  was  not  sure  was  sincere.  "  I  suppose  I'm  nothing 
but  a  dreamer,  after  all." 

She  defended  him  from  himself.  "  I  don't  think 
you're  a  dreamer.  Or  not  altogether.  Doesn't  Emer 
son  say,  '  Be  true  to  the  dream  of  thy  youth '  ?" 

"  Ah,  but  which  one  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Now  that  is  what  I  call  truly  trivial  —  making 
light  of  serious  things." 

"  But  I'm  not ;  I'm  quite  in  earnest.  With  all  my 
various  dreaming  —  my  experimenting,  as  you  call 
it—" 

"  Oh,  if  you  mean  that,  yes,"  she  assented,  and  then, 
not  knowing  just  where  they  were,  or  not  being  sure 
what  next  she  should  say  in  criticism  of  him,  she  re 
marked,  abstractly,  "  Isn't  it  strange  what  life  seems 
to  come  to  ?" 

"  It  certainly  is,"  he  agreed,  in  turn.  "  But  do  you 
mean  generally  or  particularly?" 

"  Oh,  I  was  just  thinking  of  poor  Mrs.  Ager  yonder. 
I  suppose  she  was  a  bright  young  girl  once,  and  had 
a  whole  tribe  of  brothers  and  sisters,  as  they  used  to 
in  the  country,  and  believed  she  was  having  the  gayest 
kind  of  times  when  she  grew  up;  and  then  she  got 
married  and  had  a  large  family  of  her  own,  and  her 
husband  died,  and  her  children  got  married,  most  of 
them,  and  one  son  went  to  the  war  and  was  killed, 
and  they  brought  his  sword  home  and  put  it  over  the 
head  of  her  bed.  And  now  she  lives  there  alone,  just 
one  little  shrivelled  up  old  scrap  of  all  the  lives  she 
once  belonged  to." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  is  very  pathetic.  If  some 
thing  like  such  a  common  history  could  be  put  whole 
into  a  play — " 

"  But  it  couldn't.    A  play  must  be  made  up  of  a  few 

great  moments." 

195 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  AE,  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that!" 

"  Of  course  if  you  could  hint  at  it  all  in  a  sort  of 
prologue,  and  then  get  in  the  feeling  of  this  wild  neigh 
borhood,  and  have  it  end  tragically,  with  her  getting 
killed  in  her  house  alone  there  by  tramps —  I  do  be 
lieve  Mr.  Kite  is  right  about  it !  Some  day  the  neigh 
bors  will  find  her  dead  there." 

"  Yes.  Or  we  could  have  it  end  well.  Mrs.  Ager 
could  make  an  outcry,  as  we  thought  she  did  to-night; 
and  Kite  could  come  to  the  rescue.  He  seems  to  be  the 
neighborhood  moralist  and  philanthropist." 

"  Now  you  are  trivial  again !  I  should  think  you 
would  be  awed  by  the  sort  of  mixture  such  a  man  is; 
he  and  his  wife  both.  Sometimes  they  really  seem  to 
want  to  do  right." 

'"  I  suppose  we  all  do ;  but  some  of  us  find  it  more 
difficult  than  others." 

"Do  you  excuse  them  on  that  account?"  she  de 
manded,  severely.  "  Perhaps  you  think  they  are 
more  to  be  considered  than  my  cousins,  whose  lives 
they  have  made  so  miserable  here.  I  dare  say  you 
think  that  rather  than  put  the  Kites  out  we  ought  to 
go  away  ourselves  and  leave  the  house  to  them.  I 
really  believe  you  do!"  If  she  expected  him  to  be 
daunted  by  her  charge  she  had  to  own  to  herself  that 
he  was  right  in  answering  nothing  to  it.  She  ended, 
ineffectively  enough,  "  But  where  could  we  go  ?" 

"  Well,"  he  surprised  her  in  answering,  "  I  do  hap 
pen  to  have  heard  of  a  place — " 

"  Oh !  Have  you  been  making  inquiries  ?"  she  asked. 
But  she  felt  that  her  question  was  vulgar,  and  she  add 
ed,  "  I  beg  your  pardon." 

He  did  not  seem  to  have  taken  offence.  "  You  re 
member  that  stone  cottage  ?" 

"  Not  the  one  where  they  couldn't  agree  whether  to 

196 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

paint  the  ell  red  or  green?"  she  demanded,  tumult- 
uously. 

"  Yes ;  the  people  in  it  want  to  go  to  the  seaside  for 
July  and  August,  and  they  had  heard  of  your  troubles 
here—" 

"  Our  troubles  seem  to  have  filled  the  neighborhood 
for  miles  around!" 

"And  the  man  was  at  the  post-office  to-day  when  I 
went  for  my  letters,  and  he  asked  if  your  cousins 
wouldn't  like  to  take  his  house.  I  hesitated  about  tell 
ing  Mr.  Kelwyn  because  I  didn't  just  know  how  to  do 
it  without  seeming  to  meddle — " 

"  Don't  dream  of  apologizing.  I'm  not  sure  but  we 
ought  to  be  on  our  bended  knees  in  gratitude,  or  that 
they  won't  be  as  soon  as  I  tell  them.  I'll  wake  them 
out  of  their  sleep  to  tell  them!"  she  declared,  with 
more  irony  than  she  meant  as  she  showed  herself  in 
the  dimness  suddenly  looming  to  her  feet.  But  she 
did  not  go  in  at  once.  She  said,  as  if  it  followed, 
"  The  moon  feels  fairly  warm." 

!A  curtain  of  cloud  had  swept  aside,  and  in  a  space 
of  sheer  blue  the  moon  hung,  round,  with  a  soft  glow 
of  almost  ivory-white. 

"  Perhaps  there's  reflected  heat  as  well  as  light  from 
it,"  he  suggested,  looking  at  her  looking  at  the  moon. 

"  You'll  be  wanting  to  experiment  with  it  on  the 
crops,"  she  said. 

"  But  you  know  that  it's  the  warm  nights  that  make 
the  corn  grow.  In  the  great  corn-raising  States  they 
say  you  can  hear  it  growing  at  night." 

She  laughed.  "  You  could  probably.  I  doubt  if  I 
could.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  don't  understand  about 
you,  Mr.  Emerance.  Why  do  you  always  take  the  part 
of  these  wretched  beings  around  here,  no  matter  how 
they  behave  or  how  degraded  they  are?" 

197 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Do  I  do  that  ?"  he  asked,  but  apparently  with  more 
curiosity  than  denial. 

"  I  must  leave  you  to  think  it  out.  Good-night/' 
she  said,  abruptly. 

"  Oh  no !  Don't  go !"  he  entreated,  in  what  she 
thought  a  strange  manner,  though  he  really  added  noth 
ing  more  than,  "  I'm  going  to  Boston,  and  then  to  the 
Centennial  to-morrow,  you  know." 

"  To-morrow  ?  Oh  yes ;  I  didn't  know  it  was  to 
morrow.  Then  I  must  change  good-night  to  good-bye." 

"  I  shouldn't  like  that  any  better—  I—"  But  he 
stopped. 

"  How  mysterious !"  she  said ;  but  her  heart  beat 
quickly,  for  now  if  it  was  coming,  that  greatest  it  of 
all,  she  ought  not  to  have  let  it  come  unless  she  wished 
for  it  as  she  believed  a  woman  ought  to  wish  with  her 
whole  soul.  She  had  her  ideal  of  this  matter,  as  she 
had  of  the  other  great  matters  of  life;  her  ideal  was 
an  instant  and  entire  passion  for  surrender  and  pos 
session,  and  as  far  as  she  could  see  in  this  rather  dis 
maying  moment  there  was  and  there  had  never  been 
anything  of  the  kind  with  her  toward  him.  She  did 
not  fail  to  blame  herself  for  having  idly  swayed  and 
drifted  on  the  surface  of  a  current  that  had  nothing 
torrential  in  it;  but  she  believed  that  she  could  have 
made  excuses  for  herself.  She  had  always  felt  in  many 
ways  so  much  beyond  him;  not  above  him,  but  beyond 
him.  It  was  not  so  much  that  his  level  was  lower  than 
hers,  but  his  point  of  arrival  was  so  much  short  of 
hers.  She  was  older  in  spirit,  more  settled  in  prin 
ciple,  more  convinced  in  opinion.  She  was  of  quite 
another  civilization  and  an  experience  of  the  world 
altogether  different.  Yet  she  ought  not  to  have  let  it 
come  to  what  it  was  coming  to.  She  had  been  wrong, 
and  now  she  could  only  be  right  by  being  cruel.  If 

198 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

Parthenope  was  rather  cold  she  did  not  like  being 
cruel. 

One  imperceptible  instant  she  waited  for  him  to 
go  on  before  she  said,  "  Well,  I'll  keep  to  my  orig 
inal  good-night."  He  echoed,  "  Good-night/'  with  an 
accent  of  submission  that  haunted  her  to  her  room, 
but  left  her  to  a  various  mind.  Among  her  ideals  none 
was  more  distinct  than  that  of  the  manliness  which 
must  take  all  the  risks  in  love-making.  Her  tempera 
mental  adequacy  to  the  demands  of  life  upon  herself 
left  her  without  much  compassion  for  those  who  pal 
tered  with  destiny  and  feared  to  put  their  fate  to  the 
touch.  She  had  a  difficulty  in  the  matter  that  did  not 
leave  her  wholly  at  ease,  for  if  she  had  encouraged 
Emerance  to  the  point  of  asking  her  for  herself,  when 
she  meant  to  deny  him,  she  was  clearly  wrong  accord 
ing  to  her  lowest  ideal  of  herself;  but  if  he  believed 
she  had  encouraged  him,  and  yet  was  so  nerveless  that 
he  could  not  act  upon  his  belief,  she  could  only  regard 
him  with  a  pity  close  upon  contempt.  Her  pitying 
contempt  did  not  wholly  exclude  the  remorse  with 
which  she  began  thinking  the  whole  case  over.  Either 
she  had  or  she  had  not  encouraged  him,  and  if  she  had 
she  ought  now  to  have  discouraged  him  sharply,  de 
cisively.  But  had  he  been  definite  enough  for  this  ? 
If  she  had  really  left  him  to  a  sort  of  vague  hope1,  was 
it  because  she  was  uncertain  of  his  meaning  ?  Had  he 
led  her  on  through  her  curiosity,  tempted  her  to  the 
uncandor  of  which  she  accused  herself?  Was  it  all  a 
part,  another  phase  of  his  temperamental  experiment 
ing?  Had  he  been  experimenting  with  her?  The 
thought  made  Parthenope  rebound  where  she  lay  in 
bed,  as  one  does  in  a  drowse-dream  of  having  dropped 
from  some  height.  It  roused  her  to  full  waking,  but 
it  was  of  such  comfort  that  now  she  could  dismiss 

199 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

all  regret.  She  dismissed  it  so  absolutely  that  she 
passed  from  it  into  a  slumber  in  which  she  knew 
nothing  more  till  she  heard  a  knocking  on  her  door. 
Her  cousin  Kelwyn  excused  it  as  his,  saying  that 
he  would  like  her  to  drive  over  to  the  Shakers  with 
him,  and  it  was  past  eight  o'clock. 


XXIII 

FROM  the  sleepless  remnant  of  the  night,  which  Par- 
thenope  had  found  so  refreshing  after  the  clearing  of 
her  conscience  toward  Einerance,  Kelwyn  had  risen  with 
as  generous  a  resolution  as  ever  filled  the  breast  of  a 
lecturer  on  historical  sociology.  At  the  very  first  step 
toward  its  fulfilment  he  met  with  an  experience  which 
was  the  first  of  his  difficulties.  Kite  was  not  there  to 
hitch  up  the  horse  for  him,  and  when  he  asked  for 
Eaney  or  Albert,  Mrs.  Kite  said  they  had  both  gone  to 
the  field  with  her  husband.  But  she  added,  lightly, 
that  the  horse  was  in  the  barn,  and  she  guessed  Kel 
wyn  could  hitch  it  up  all  right.  She  guessed  truly, 
and  by  the  time  Parthenope  had  finished  the  be 
lated  breakfast  she  had  got  for  herself  Kelwyn  had 
been  so  expeditious  that  he  was  sitting  in  the  carryall 
waiting  for  her  at  the  door. 

As  she  mounted  beside  him  the  two  Kelwyn  boys 
came  running  from  the  kitchen  to  say,  in  their  usual 
order :  "  We  don't  want  to  go  with  you,  papa.  Arthur 
has  give  us  the  white  horse." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  their  father  said,  absently ;  "  given,  not 
give." 

"  Arthur  says  give ;  Mrs.  Kite  says  give,"  they  de 
fended  themselves. 

"  I've  no  doubt,"  Kelwyn  said.  "  But  you  mustn't. 
And  don't  try  to  ride  him." 

"  No,  we  won't,"  they  promised ;  and  as  Kelwyn 
drove  off  with  Parthenope,  who  had  tried,  within  the 

201 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

bounds  of  truth,  to  magnify  the  gift  which  the  boys 
had  asked  her  to  appreciate,  after  their  evident  failure 
with  their  father,  Kelwyn  added :  "  I'm  not  sure  that 
I  know  which  they  promised  not  to  do.  If  we  stayed 
here  much  longer  they  would  not  have  a  grammatical 
principle  uncorrupted.  But  fortunately  we  are  not 
going  to  stay.  We  are  going  to  go." 

"  Why,  have  the  Shakers  found  that  that  last  family 
won't  do?7'  the  girl  asked,  glad  of  the  fresh  morning 
air  in  a  world  where  there  were  many  things  one  could 
not  approve  of. 

"  They  will  do  only  too  well,"  Kelwyn  said,  "  and 
that  makes  the  difficulty  the  greater.  The  whole  mat 
ter  is  one  that  I  should  like  to  put  before  you,  as  Carry 
and  I  have  been  seeing  it  in  the  darkness  of  the  night." 

"  Oh,  do,  Cousin  Elmer !  You  know  I  always  feel 
so  honored  when  you  talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  grown 
up.  And  I  will  try  my  very  best  to  be  grown  up." 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  to  be  grown  up,  too,  and  I 
hope  you  won't  mind  my  being  a  little  prolix  and  per 
haps  repeating  what  you  know  already." 

"  Not  at  all ;  that's  the  only  way  I  can  help  you." 

This  was  not  very  consequent,  and  Kelwyn  frowned 
a  little  for  the  inconsequence  as  he  went  on.  "You 
know  the  plain  and  logical  view  of  the  matter,  the  legal 
position,  would  be  to  stand  upon  our  rights.  Perhaps, 
in  the  interest  of  society,  we  should  not  enable  the  Kites 
to  remain  where  they  could  impose  upon  other  long 
suffering  and  unoffending  people." 

"  Yes,"  Parthenope  assented,  with  bright  intelli 
gence. 

"  But  it  is  just  there  where  we  have  found  ourselves 
weak,  and  where  we  have  decided  to  incur  the  measure 
of  guilt  that  lies  in  what  I  may  call  a  self-indulgent 
self-sacrifice.  We  have  been  talking  it  over  the  whole 

202 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

night,  or  what  was  left  of  the  night,  and  we  cannot 
bring  ourselves  to  stand  upon  our  rights.  To  put 
those  people  out  would  be  to  disgrace  them  before 
their  neighbors,  and  cloud  their  future  wherever  the 
rumor  of  their  disgrace  followed  them.  I  have  realized 
more  and  more,  from  my  last  talk  with  Brother  Jasper, 
that  he  would  justify  us  in  putting  them  out,  not  be 
cause  they  were  unfit  to  keep  the  house  for  any  one, 
but  because  they  could  not  keep  it  to  suit  us,  could  not 
meet  our  tastes.  This  is  the  business  view  of  it.  I 
know  that  Elder  Nathaniel  and  the  Sisters  feel  dif 
ferently,  and  that  they  truly  regret  what  we  have  un 
dergone  ;  they  have  all  said  so,  and  they  would  approve 
our  action  understandingly,  but  Brother  Jasper  never 
would.  To  the  last  he  would  think  we  had  been  too 
particular,  and  he  might  even  say  so  to  justify  himself 
for  putting  the  Kites  into  the  house  at  all.  I  don't 
believe  he  has  been  very  wise  in  his  selection  of  their 
unsuccessive  successors,  though  he  seems  at  last  to  have 
found  the  right  family  for  us.  Until  the  other  day, 
when  I  forced  him  to  it  explicitly,  he  has  never  talked 
the  matter  over  with  Kite  in  my  presence  either  be 
cause  he  is  afraid  of  him  or  because  he  does  not  wholly 
approve  of  us.  I  don't  like  that  in  Brother  Jasper,  and 
I  am  going  round  to  tell  him  so  when  I  tell  him  that 
we  have  decided  now,  without  further  delay,  to  go  out 
ourselves." 

"  I  am  sure  you  owe  it  to  yourself,  Cousin  Elmer,  to 
do  so,"  Parthenope  assented.  But  in  listening  to  Kel- 
wyn's  statement  her  mind  had  wandered  to  the  tolera 
tion  with  which  Emerance  had  always  spoken  of  the 
Kites,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  inspired  her  cousin 
to  say: 

"  I  don't  blame  the  Kites  altogether,  you  understand. 
Carry  and  I  have  both  come  to  the  same  conclusion* 
H  203 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

It's  even  a  little  pathetic  about  them  in  their  ignorance, 
their  want  of  domestic  civilization.  He  believes  she 
is  a  perfect  housekeeper  so  thoroughly  that  she  be 
lieves  it  herself.  That  is  the  hopeless  phase  of  the 
case,  as  it  is  the  pathetic  phase.  Besides,  they  are  not 
without  human,  without  humane  feeling.  Kite  thinks 
he  is  the  superior  of  that  drunken  Alison,  and  is 
qualified  to  advise  him  and  his  wife  for  their  good; 
and  you  saw  last  night  how  ready  they  were  to  go  to 
the  help  of  Mrs.  Ager  when  they  thought  she  was  in 
trouble." 

"  Yes ;  that  is  what  complicates  the  matter,"  Par- 
thenope  said,  and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  say 
ing  it  in  assent  to  Emerance  as  well  as  to  Kelwyn. 

"  And  now  I  am  going  to  the  Shakers'  to  have  it  out 
with  Brother  Jasper,  and  to  make  him  go  with  me  to 
the  field  again  where  Kite  is  working  and  have  it  out 
with  Mm.  Brother  Jasper  has  got  to  listen  while  I  tell 
Kite  that  we  are  not  going  to  make  him  go,  but  are 
going  ourselves,  not  because  he  cannot  suit  us,  but  be 
cause  he  can't  suit  anybody.  I  shall  have  at  least  that 
satisfaction." 

"  And  I  think  you  have  a  perfect  right  to  it,  Cousin 
Elmer,"  Parthenope  commented,  with  a  judicial  air 
which  was  not  impaired  for  Kelwyn  by  her  laying 
her  hand  on  his  and  pressing  it  with  impulsive  ap 
proval.  He  liked  it  the  more  because  it  did  not  seem 
alloyed  by  the  doubt  of  his  course  which  he  had  felt 
himself,  and  which  his  wife  had  expressed  in  arriving 
with  him  at  their  present  decision.  "  The  worst  of  it," 
he  answered,  with  a  sigh  of  disclaimer,  "  is  that  we 
don't  know  where  to  go.  It's  still  a  month  or  six  weeks 
before  we  want  to  go  back  to  town,  and  we  haven't  the 
least  idea  where  to  put  in  the  time." 

Parthenope  hesitated,  and  a  blush  made  its  way 

204 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

tKrougE  the  tan  which  covered  her  face  to  her  cin 
namon  hair. 

"  The  only  place  that  I  have  seen  yet,"  Kelwyn  pur 
sued,  "  is  the  one  I  saw  with  Carry  the  other  day  while 
you  were  off  with  Emerance.  The  place  was  charming, 
and  the  rooms  were  as  many  as  we  could  ask;  but  they 
were  stuffy  and  shabby,  and  the  woman,  though  good- 
looking  enough,  \vas  long,  lank,  and  slatternly,  and 
had  drawn  her  hair  up  over  her  head  and  dyed  the 
skull  through  it  in  spots!"  But  he  broke  away  from 
the  picture.  "  Part  of  my  errand  to  the  Shakers  is  to 
ask  whether  they  don't  know  of  some  decent  people 
who  will  take  us  in  when  we  turn  ourselves  out  into  the 
street;  for  that  is  what  it  practically  comes  to.  They 
certainly  owe  us  as  much  as  that.  I  don't  know  but 
I  have  a  right  to  demand  that  they  shall  board  us 
till  we  can  find  some  place." 

"  Yes,"  Parthenope  assented,  provisionally.  "  You 
wouldn't  like  to  keep  house  for  yourselves  ?" 

"  Isn't  that  what  we  are  and  have  been  doing  ?"  he 
asked,  sarcastically. 

"  Then,"  she  said,  "  I  believe  I  know  of  something. 
It  is  a  house  that  Mr.  Emerance  and  I  saw.  I  didn't 
suppose  it  could  be  had;  but  Mr.  Emerance  said  last 
night  that  he  had  met  the  owner  in  the  post-office,  and 
he  told  him  they  were  going  to  the  seaside  for  August, 
and  he  wondered  if  you  wouldn't  like  his  house,  for  he 
heard  you  were  not  satisfied  with  the  Kites.  But  I 
didn't  know  that  Cousin  Carry  wanted  the  care  of 
housekeeping,  or  even  that  you  were  going  to  leave  the 
Kites- 

"  Don't  keep  me  waiting,  Parthenope !  What  is  it  ? 
Where  is  it?  Housekeeping!  We  are  prepared  for 
"hote /keep ing,  rather  than  stay  where  we  are." 

"  Why,  you  remember  that  stone  cottage  round  by 

205 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  pond,  or  dam,  wHere  those  wood  -  colored  mills 
are?" 

"  You  don't  mean  that  cottage  where  they  can't  agree 
whether  to  paint  the  ell  red  or  green  ?  Do  you  mean 
that  we  could  get  that  cottage  for  the  rest  of  the  sum 
mer?" 

f<  That  is  what  Mr.  Emerance  said ;  but — " 

"  Get  up !"  Kelwyn  called  to  his  horse ;  he  almost 
shouted,  in  fact;  and  he  pulled  so  hard  on  one  of  the 
reins  that  the  girl  cried  out  in  alarm : 

"  Are  you  trying  to  turn  the  wagon  over,  Cousin 
Elmer?" 

"  I'm  trying  to  turn  the  road  round." 

"  But  that  isn't  the  way  to  the  Shakers' !" 

"  E"o ;  but  it's  the  way  to  the  stone  cottage,  and  I'm 
going  there  as  fast  as  this  horse  can  crawl.  Par- 
thenope,  you  are  an  instrument  of  Providence,  though 
you  may  never  have  suspected  it.  That  stone  cottage 
has  dropped  from  heaven,  and  at  your  touch.  I  only 
hope  no  one  else  has  taken  it,  or  the  people  changed 
their  minds." 

"But  wait,  Cousin  Elmer,"  she  entreated,  laying 
her  hand  on  the  reins.  "  You're  not  going  to  take  it 
without  Cousin  Carry's  seeing  it  ?" 

"  Your  seeing  it  will  be  enough.  You  know  our 
wants  quite  as  well  as  we  do,  and  Caroline  will  trust 
your  judgment." 

In  his  wilfulness  Kelwyn  became  almost  gay,  and 
the  girl  caught  his  spirit,  so  that  when  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  cottage  at  a  turn  of  the  road  she  was 
laughing. 

The  owners  of  the  cottage  were  out  in  its  grounds, 
looking  up  at  the  ell  as  before,  but  at  sight  of  the  carry 
all  at  their  front  door  they  both  came  to  it  ques- 

tioningly. 

206 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Your  place  gone  yet  ?"  Kelwyn  asked,  with,  the 
jocoseness  which  in  him  was  always  racial  rather  than 
personal. 

"  No,"  the  owner  of  the  cottage  said,  in  the  same 
vein,  "  it  seems  to  be  here  still.  Professor  Kelwyn  ? 
Thought  it  was  you.  Guess  we  know  the  young  lady 
already.  Won't  you  come  in  and  look  round?  Hitch 
your  horse  for  you  ?" 

"No,"  Kelwyn  said,  alighting  and  helping  Par- 
thenope  down.  "He'll  stand — whenever  he  gets  the 
chance." 

"  Looks  that  way,"  the  other  assented.  "  Well,  it's 
a  great  thing  in  a  horse." 

The  wife  took  friendly  possession  of  Parthenope, 
and  followed  her  indoors  while  the  men  talked  of  terms 
in  walking  about  the  grounds. 

"  And  there  isn't  an  unpleasant  room  in  the  house," 
the  wife  said,  proudly,  when  their  tour  of  it  had  ended, 
and  Parthenope  had  to  own : 

"  No ;  there  isn't,  indeed.  I  think  it's  perfect,  but 
my  cousin  will  have  to  see  it.  I  couldn't  be  respon 
sible." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  the  wife  said,  coming  to  the 
door  with  her.  "  She  can  have  our  girl,  too." 

"  Well,  he's  taken  it,"  her  husband  said,  referring 
to  Kelwyn.  "Hass/ief 

"  The  same  as,  I  guess,"  his  wife  humored  him. 

"  He's  going  to  paint  the  ell  dark  green." 

"  And  she's  going  to  paint  it  red." 

They  had  their  joke,  and  Parthenope  praised  the 
house,  but  cautioned  Kelwyn  that  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  in 
justice  to  her,  ought  to  see  it. 

"  Have  I  the  refusal  till  to-morrow  ?"  he  asked  of  the 
lady, 

"  Oh  yes." 

207 


THE    VACATION    OF    THE    KE.LWTNS 

"  Just  drop  a  postal/'  the  husband  said,  and  Kelwyn 
got  back  into  the  carryall  with  Parthenope. 

As  he  drove  away,  in  high  content  with  himself 
and  the  whole  world,  he  said,  "  Now,  I  shall  have 
courage  to  face  the  Shakers,  and  tell  Brother  Jasper 
what  I  have  decided  to  do." 

Parthenope  looked  her  surprise  at  his  seeming  to 
have  just  come  to  a  conclusion  which  she  had  thought 
his  prime  errand,  and  he  went  on : 

"  Of  course  I  should  have  done  it  in  any  case,  but 
Laving  a  roof  to  put  over  one's  head  beforehand  makes 
a  great  difference.  It  gives  one  heart." 

"  Of  course,"  she  agreed ;  but  it  seemed  to  her  that 
here  was  a  point  on  which  she  ought  to  help  Kelwyn 
clear  his  mind  if  she  meant  to  be  of  the  highest  use  to 
him.  "  I  am  glad  you  have  that  to  fall  back  on."  She 
added,  tactfully :  "  A  woman  wouldn't  have  had  the 
courage  to  take  such  a  leap  in  the  dark  without  it;  I 
suppose  that  is  where  a  man  is  different." 

After  a  moment  Kelwyn  said,  rather  dryly,  "  I  sup 
pose  so." 

"  I  almost  wish,"  she  continued,  with  a  light  of  the 
ideal  in  the  face  she  turned  on  him,  but  a  modest  ideal 
expressing  a  willingness  for  instruction,  "  that  you 
could  have  told  them  you  were  going  out  before  you 
really  knew  of  anything  else." 

"  I  think  it  quite  enough  as  it  is,"  Kelwyn  said,  not 
liking  to  have  what  was  left  of  his  magnanimous  posi 
tion  minimized. 

"  Yes,"  Parthenope  reflected.  "  And  perhaps  Cousin 
Carry  may  not  like  the  house.  There's  that." 

"  I  believe  we  can  make  sure  of  her  liking  it,"  Kel 
wyn  said,  in  refusing  the  high  consolation. 

But  the  chance  of  her  not  liking  the  house  haunted 
his  consciousness,  and  reinforced  his  pride  of  self- 

208 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

indulgent  self-sacrifice  when  it  came  to  Eis  announce 
ment  of  it.  He  had  to  suffer  the  disappointment  of 
not  finding  Brother  Jasper  at  the  office;  there  was  no 
one  there  but  Elder  Nathaniel,  with  the  two  Office 
Sisters.  They  told  him  that  Brother  Jasper  had  gone 
to  the  field  where  Kite  was  working  to  meet  the  referees 
who  were  to  value  his  crops  before  he  could  be  put  out 
of  the  place. 

"  The  Family  will  have  to  take  them  at  the  referees' 
valuation,"  Elder  Nathaniel  said,  with  a  dejection 
which  the  Sisters  mutely  shared.  "  And  we  wish  to 
tell  you  again  how  greatly  we  regret  the  inconvenience 
you  have  suffered;  and  desire  you  to  understand  that 
our  share  of  it  is  comparatively  little.  We  would  be 
pleased  to  do  more  if  we  could." 

"  Yee,  we  would,"  the  Office  Sisters  united  with  the 
Elder.  "  We  all  would." 

"  Thank  you,"  Kelwyn  said,  with  a  severity  which 
was  meant  less  to  reproach  them  than  to  strengthen 
himself  in  his  high  purpose.  "  I  have  come  to  relieve 
you  even  of  that  part.  My  wife  and  I  have  decided  not 
to  put  you  to  any  further  trouble,  but  to  end  the  whole 
matter  by  going  out  ourselves  and  leaving  the  Kites  in 
possession." 

"  I  have  been  afraid  it  might  come  to  that,"  Elder 
Nathaniel  sadly  admitted,  without  that  explicit  ap 
plause  of  Kelwyn's  decision  which  he  certainly  thought 
it  merited. 

The  Sisters  merely  looked  their  distress,  and  while 
the  men  talked  the  matter  over  in  detail  they  seemed 
glad  to  turn  from  it  and  enter  into  such  gossip  with 
Parthenope  as  they  thought  harmless. 

"  It  seems  as  if  a  great  many  were  going  to  the 
Centennial,"  Saranna  said.  "  Some  of  our  Canbury 
Family  are  going,  and  the  storekeeper  in  the  village 

209 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

at  the  depot  is  taking  his  wife.  We  did  hear  that  the 
folks  in  the  stone  cottage  were  going,  too,  if  they  could 
let  their  house  right  away." 

As  her  cousin  Kelwyn  had  not  thought  fit  to  say  that 
he  expected  to  take  the  house,  Parthenope  did  not  feel 
warranted  in  doing  so,  though  her  higher  ideal  of  truth 
demanded  it  of  her.  She  said  nothing,  and  Sister  Sa- 
ranna  went  on,  placidly :  "  The  teacher  over  at  the 
school  where  Friend  Caroline  said  you  saw  the  ex 
ercises  went  this  morning  by  the  first  train — her  and 
the  young  woman  on  the  school  committee.  They 
passed  here  early,  and  Friend  Emerance  got  into 
their  carryall  with  them  and  went  to  the  depot.  Did 
you  hear  that  they  were  going  to  the  Centennial  to 
gether  ?" 

"  RTo,"  Parthenope  answered,  briefly ;  and  through 
a  tumult  of  emotions  and  conjectures  that  whirled 
round  her  she  heard  Kelwyn  saying  as  from  a  distance : 

"  Then  I  will  let  you  take  the  horse  and  drive  on 
home,  Parthenope,  and  I  will  walk  over  after  I  have 
seen  Kite.  Elder  Nathaniel  is  going  to  show  me  where 
to  find  him.  You  can  tell  Carry  what  we  have  done." 

"  Very  well,  Cousin  Elmer,"  she  answered,  in  her 
remoteness. 

The  light  which  Sister  Saranna's  news  had  thrown 
upon  Emerance's  relation  to  herself  was  a  sort  of 
baleful  dazzle  which  showed  the  facts  but  not  the 
meaning  of  the  facts.  Its  searching  glare  multiplied 
the  whole  question  in  the  shape  of  doubts,  of  sus 
picions,  which  tormented  and  disgraced  her  before  her 
self.  Had  he  been,  then,  amusing  himself  with  her? 
Had  he  dared  to  remain  in  some  such  uncertainty  re 
garding  her  as  she  had  remained  in  regarding  him? 
Had  he  played  off  in  his  mind  his  preference  for  the 
school-teacher  against  his  preference  for  her,  and  had 

210 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  school-teacher  won?  If  he  had  been  opener,  he* 
course  would  have  been  clear.  Even  if  he  had  cared 
most  for  her,  it  would  have  been  in  accordance  with 
the  canons  of  the  high  romance  to  give  him  up  to  that 
girl;  and  although  she  loved  him  herself,  to  deny  her 
love  until  she  died  of  it.  But  Parthenope  was  not  con 
vinced  that  she  loved  him,  or  would  have,  if  he  asked 
her,  and  she  felt  that  as  the  affair  stood  he  had,  to  for 
mulate  the  vulgar  fact  vulgarly,  been  flirting  with  them 
both,  in  an  insensibility  to  her  superiority  which  was 
a  part  of  his  inferiority.  She  had  to  put  it  to  herself 
as  grossly  as  this  before  she  could  seize  the  reality 
and  begin  to  take  thought  for  action.  But  when  she 
asked  herself  what  she  should  do  she  felt  stricken, 
wounded,  lamed  to  helplessness.  Like  every  other 
woman,  since  love  began,  to  whom  the  like  had  hap 
pened,  she  could  do  nothing  but  stand  still  and  take 
the  blows  of  destiny,  without  returning  them,  till  she 
sank  under  them.  But  she  could  not  believe  that  any 
thing  so  out  of  keeping  with  her  character  and  ex 
perience  could  really  happen  to  her. 


XXIV 

PARTHENOPE  found  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  in  a  pause  of  her 
packing,  refreshing  herself  with  an  untimely  cup  of 
tea,  which  she  seemed  to  be  drinking  merely  because 
Mrs.  Kite  had  offered  to  make  it  for  her,  and  which  she 
praised  for  its  unexpected  goodness.  "  It's  this  sort 
of  thing  that  makes  it  so  distressing  to  leave  them. 
Whether  we  turn  ourselves  out  or  them  out,  we  dis 
grace  them  in  their  neighbors'  eyes.  I  have  realized 
that  more  and  more,  and  when  the  incapable  creature 
makes  one  of  her  hopeless  efforts  to  please  I  lose  all 
resentment  and  wish  we  could  stay.  It  isn't  such  a 
simple  matter!  Nothing  seems  very  simple,  even  the 
simplest  thing.  And  that  brings  me  to  the  point,  Par- 
thenope.  There's  something  I  want  to  speak  to  you 
about,  but  I've  been  so  distracted  that  I'm  afraid  I've 
put  it  off  rather  selfishly." 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  spiritlessly  suggested,  from  the  other 
side  of  the  table. 

"  Is  there  anything  between  you  and  Mr.  Emer- 
ance  ?" 

"  No,"  Parthenope  answered,  as  spiritlessly  as  be 
fore. 

"  Well,  so  far,  so  good,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  with  an 
air  of  strict  sequence.  "  Then  I  need  say  nothing  about 
it.  I  was  afraid  you  were  allowing  yourself  to  be 
come  interested  in  him,  and  such  a  thing  would  have 
been  very  unfortunate.  I  ought  to  have  warned  you 
before,  but  in  the  confusion  here,  the  perfect  topsy- 

212 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

turviness  of  all  our  ideas,  I  Haven't  been  able  to  bring 
my  mind  to  bear  upon  it.  You  know  yourself,  Par 
thenope,  that  anything  serious  would  be  quite  out  of 
the  question.  The  very  fact  that  he  was  so  different 
from  ourselves  in  what  Mr.  Kelwyn  calls  his  civiliza 
tion  had  made  me  feel  easier,  but  it  doesn't  excuse  me. 
If  he  had  been  a  young  man  of  your  own  class  I  cer 
tainly  should  have  objected  to  your  being  about  with 
him  so  much  at  all  hours  " — she  helplessly  flowed  into 
the  saying — "  of  the  day  and  night." 

At  another  time  Parthenope  might  have  resented  this 
way  of  putting  it,  but  now  she  only  said,  lifelessly,  "  I 
understand." 

The  want  of  opposition  seemed  to  weaken  Mrs.  Kel 
wyn  in  her  position.  "  Not  that  young  people,  in  these 
picnicking  and  camping  times,  don't  throw  off  a  good 
many  social  trammels,  and  it's  quite  proper  and  harm 
less.  With  Mr.  Emerance,  too,  I  felt  that  his  very 
want  of  any  experience  like  your  own  added  to  the 
propriety.  But  I  don't  think  I  have  considered  you 
enough  in  the  matter,  and  I  blame  myself  very  much. 
I  suppose  we  may  both  acknowledge  that  there  is  some 
thing  very  attractive  about  him.  He  is  cultivated,  in 
a  certain  way,  and  he  has  the  good  manners  that  come 
from  a  good  heart.  Though  he  seems  such  a  dreamer, 
he  is  the  most  practical  and  efficient  person  I  ever  saw. 
!And  he  is  certainly  very  good-looking.  You  must  ac 
knowledge  that  yourself,  Parthenope." 

"  Oh  yes/'  the  girl  owned,  "  very  handsome,  in 
deed." 

"I  shouldn't  really  have  wondered  if  you  had  be 
come  interested  in  him;  I  shouldn't  have  been  at  all 
surprised  if  there  had  been  something  between  you." 

"  But  there  isn't." 

"  Yes ;  I  know  that,  and  I  am  glad  you  are  not  in- 

213 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

terested  in  him  at  all  in  tliat  way."  Parthenope  did 
not  respond,  and  Mrs.  Kelwyn  went  on  as  if  less  con 
fident  of  her  ground.  "  You  are  very  much  his  su 
perior  in  every  respect." 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  girl  said,  coldly.  "  He  has 
read  quite  as  much  as  I  have,  and  he  has  thought  in 
directions  where  I  haven't  thought  at  all." 

"  I  like  your  being  impartial,  but  you  must  be  just 
even  to  yourself,  no  matter  how  generous  you  feel 
like  being.  I  don't  suppose  he  has  the  least  notion  of 
art?" 

"  None  that  I  know  of." 

"  And  that  is  what  I  mean  by  your  superiority.  I 
take  that  merely  as  a  type.  He  is  utterly  wanting  on 
the  aBsthetic  side.  I  don't  suppose  he  has  the  least  idea 
how  perfectly  you  are  dressed;  how  simply  and  yet 
how  beautifully.  And,  though  he  has  the  good  man 
ners  that  come  from  a  good  heart,  as  I  say,  he  hasn't 
the  least  notion  of  society  as  we  know  it." 

"  No." 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  somewhat  baffled  by 
Parthenope's  acquiescences,  "you  see  that  it  would 
never  have  done  in  the  world.  I  don't  imagine,  if  there 
had  been  anything  between  you,  that  your  aunt  Julia 
would  have  objected ;  she  never  objects  to  anything  you 
do.  But  that  has  made  my  responsibility  all  the  greater, 
don't  you  see  ?  And  I  have  felt  my  responsibility  tow 
ard  Mm  as  well  as  toward  you.  We  have  both  got  to 
confess  that  he  has  acted  in  everything  with  the  most 
perfect  delicacy.  I  think  his  behavior  in  every  respect 
has  been  worthy  of  the  highest  ideal  of  a  gentleman. 
But  things  like  that  have  made  me  anxious  not  to  let 
the  affair  go  too  far  with  him.  I  have  been  afraid  that 
he  was  interested  in  you,  and  that  he  would  feel  it  more 

than  you  realized  when  you  had  to  tell  him  that  there 

214 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

was  no  Hope  for  Him."  Parthenope  was  silent,  and 
Mrs.  Kelwyn  added,  almost  interrogatively :  "  As  you 
certainly  would.  You  couldn't  have  forgiven  yourself 
for  that.  And  that  was  what  made  me  so  anxious,  all 
round." 

"  There  was  no  occasion  for  anxiety,  Cousin  Carry," 
Parthenope  replied,  coldly.  "  Mr.  Emerance  has  been 
consoling  himself  against  the  chances." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean — I  mean — that  he  has  gone  to  the  Cen 
tennial  with  that — that  school-teacher,"  Parthenope  an 
swered. 

"And  you  mean — you  mean — that  there  is  some 
thing  between  them  ?" 

"  I  don't  mean  anything  but  what  I  say." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  ?    Who  told  you  3" 

"  Sister  Saranna." 

"This  morning?" 

Parthenope  nodded. 

"  But,  Parthenope,  how  did  Sister  Saranna  know  it  ?" 

"  She  saw  him  getting  into  the  wagon  at  the  Office 
with  her  and  that  committee-girl." 

"  But,  Parthenope,  that  may  not  mean  anything. 
People  of  that  sort  could  go  to  the  Centennial  on  the 
same  train,  and  still — and  still — "  Mrs.  Kelwyn  felt 
that  she  was  failing  to  make  out  her  case,  and  more 
remotely  that  she  had  no  reason  for  trying  to  console 
her  cousin  under  the  circumstances,  if  she  was  glad 
that  there  was  nothing  between  her  and  Emerance. 

Parthenope  turned  upon  her.  "  You  seemed  to  think 
his  being  about  with  me  meant  something  —  meant 
something  on  his  part." 

"  Yes,  but  that  was  very  different." 

"  It  was  not  the  least  different.  It  was  exactly  the 
same  thing.  But  it  doesn't  matter.  It  is  all  for  the 

215 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

best,  and  it  releases  you  from  the  responsibility  which 
you  dread  so  much." 

"  I  don't  understand.  Had  you  any  reason  to  sup 
pose  that  he  was  interested  in  the  school-teacher  ?  She 
is  certainly  very  pretty.  But  has  he  been  " — the  words 
framed  themselves  on  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  involuntary  lips 
— "  going  with  her  ?" 

"  Don't  be  country,  Cousin  Carry.  If  he  was  '  going 
with '  me  he  may  have  been  '  going  with '  Itier,  too." 

"  That  is  true.  But  if  you  have  never  been  inter 
ested  in  him,  she  may  not  have  been,  either."  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  felt  this  a  triumph  of  logic,  almost  a  syllogism. 
"  Don't  you  see  that  it  proves  nothing  ?"  she  pursued. 

"  Cousin  Carry,  do  you  think  I  have  no  sense  or  no 
feeling?"  Parthenope  turned  away  and  was,  as  sho 
felt,  sweeping  from  the  room,  when  she  was  arrested 
by  something  she  saw  through  the  window. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  demanded,  from  where 
she  still  sat  at  the  table. 

"[Nothing.  Cousin  Elmer  is  coming."  She  spoke 
now  in  a  wholly  different  note. 

"  Is  Brother  Jasper  with  him  ?    I  hope— 

"  It  isn't  Jasper.  You  can  look  for  yourself,"  and 
now  Parthenope  really  swept  from  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  heard  her  shutting  her  door  before  she  made 
her  own  way  to  the  window. 

She  saw  her  husband  coming  forward  at  a  con 
versational  pace,  and  with  him  was  Emerance,  shar 
ing  a  discussion  which  seemed  so  far  removed,  to  the 
eyes  at  least,  from  the  pressing  actualities  of  life  that 
she  provisionally  lost  all  patience  with  them  both.  She 
hurried  down  to  the  door,  and  met  them  in  time  to  hear 
Kelwyn  saying,  "  Yes,  that  is  an  admirable  subject, 
but  everything,  as  you  have  realized,  depends  upon  the 

treatment." 

216 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

She  took  no  notice  of  her  husband  in  challenging  his 
companion,  "  Why,  Mr.  Emerance,  I  thought  you  had 
gone  to  the  Centennial !" 

"  Oh  no !  I  did  intend  to  go  to  Boston  this  morn 
ing,  but  I  found  a  letter  at  the  post-office  in  the  village 
which  decided  me  to  put  off  my  whole  trip  for  a  week 
or  two;  and  Mr.  Kelwvn  has  let  me  come  back  with 
him." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  stared  at  her  husband  with  a  severity 
which  he  met  with  a  tone  of  comradery  for  Emerance, 
full  of  greater  liking  than  he  usually  allowed  himself 
to  express.  "  Mr.  Emerance  has  put  it  so  succinctly 
that  I  needn't  explain  that  his  object  in  returning  is 
to  help  us  pack  and  get  off.  He  thinks  we  can't  manage 
without  him." 

Mrs.  Kelwyn's  mind  reverted  to  the  main  point,  on 
which  it  had  been  turning  before  flying  off  at  a  tangent 
to  Parthenope  and  Emerance.  "And  you  are  really 
going?" 

"Not  unless  you  are,  my  dear,"  Kelwyn  answered, 
with  sarcasm.  "  Didn't  you  understand  that  I  had 
gone  to  see  Kite  and  arrange  the  matter  with  him  once 
and  for  all?" 

"  Oh  yes,  but—" 

"  Well,  that's  what  I've  done,  and  quite  amicably, 
though  he  had  his  misgivings  when  I  gave  up  every 
point  to  him;  I  might  say  he  had  his  suspicions.  But 
he  seemed  to  overcome  them,  and  I  think  we  are  going 
to  part  friends.  I  don't  believe  we  can  part  too  soon, 
though,  with  all  this  '  changin'  faces,'  as  Brother 
Jasper  calls  it." 

"  JSTo,  probably  not,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  consented,  with  a 
sigh  of  lingering  reluctance.  "  Well,  now  we  mustn't 
lose  any  time.  Fortunately  we  are  pretty  well  packed 
already."  , 

217 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  That  will  disappoint  Mr.  Emerance.  But  you 
could  let  him  cord  a  few  trunks,  couldn't  you  3  If  you 
can't,  he  has  a  notion  of  looking  up  transportation  for 
us.  You  know  we  can't  get  away  without  a  good-sized 
vehicle  to  carry  us  and  our  things.  If  those  gypsies 
would  turn  up  again  we  might  hire  their  van." 

At  the  sound  of  talking,  which  might  or  might  not 
concern  her,  Mrs.  Kite  had  come  to  her  door,  and  she 
now  hospitably  joined  in  the  question.  "  I  don't  be 
lieve  but  what  you  could  get  a  team  to  the  village. 
There's  an  express  that  could  take  you  in  two  trips. 
I'm  real  sorry  you  feel  you  got  to  go.  Mr.  Kite  and 
me  been  talkin'  it  all  over,  and  I  don't  believe  but 
what  we  could  make  out  together  somehow." 

"  Well,"  Kelwyn  said,  in  acceptance  of  her  friendly 
feeling,  "  Mr.  Kite  and  I  have  been  talking  it  over 
since,  and  he  agrees  with  me  that  we  had  perhaps  bet 
ter  part  if  I've  engaged  other  quarters.  Oh,  by  the 
way,"  he  turned  to  his  wife,  "  I  found  out  that  the 
stone  cottage  we  all  liked  so  much  was  to  be  had,  and 
I  saw  it  with  Parthenope  this  morning.  I  said  I  would 
take  it  if  you  approved." 

"Keally,  Elmer,  you  might  have  known  I  would 
simply  jump  at  it !" 

"  Well,  I'll  drop  a  postal  to  them  at  once — : 

"  !Nb,  that  won't  do,"  his  wife  said,  with  the  eager 
ness  of  women  not  to  let  slip  the  chance  which  they 
might  have  been  willing  to  renounce.  "  Some  one  else 
might—" 

"  Mrs.  Kelwyn,"  Emerance  interposed,  "  let  me  go 
over  and  tell  them  that  you  are  coming  ?" 

"  Well,  the  hoss  ain't  unhitched  yet,"  Mrs.  Kite  in 
tervened,  with  impartiality.  "  I  guess  he's  right  there 
in  the  barn,  where  Miss  Brook  left  him  not  more'n 
half  ac  hour  ago.  She  was  sayin'  something  about 

218 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

goin'  to  the  village  after  some  canned  goods  for  din 
ner,  though  I  don't  believe  but  what  we  could  get  along 
without." 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Brook  will  come  with  me,"  Emer- 
ance  suggested,  "  and  we  can  combine  the  stone  cottage 
and  the  canned  goods  and  the  transportation  in  one 
errand." 

"  Capital !"  Kelwyn  agreed.  "  Our  lease  of  the  cot 
tage  will  come  more  authoritatively  from  one  of  the 
family  than  even  from  a  friend  of  the  family.  Where 
is  Parthenope?  Is  she  in  the  house?"  He  made  a 
start  toward  the  door,  but  faltered,  aware  for  the  first 
time  of  his  wife  frowning  significantly  at  him. 

"  I  will  go,  Elmer,"  she  said,  sternly,  and  over  her 
shoulder  she  showed  him  the  same  mystifying  front  that 
she  had  bent  on  him. 

Whatever  the  arts  or  reasons  she  used  to  compel  the 
appearance  of  the  girl,  they  succeeded,  and  Parthenope 
appeared  at  the  door  without  more  delay  than  sufficed 
her  to  have  had  the  situation  placed  attractively  before 
her. 

"How  do  you.  do?"  Emerance  called  to  her  face, 
which  lighted  up  only  provisionally;  and  as  if  he  as 
sumed  that  she  was  there  to  accompany  him  on  his 
errand,  he  added,  "  Well,  I'll  go  and  get  the  horse." 
15 


XXV 

THE  morning  had  not  yet  got  so  far  toward  noon  as 
to  have  lost  the  freshness  in  which  the  world  renews  it 
self  every  day  in  summer  with  something  like  the  joy 
of  spring.  The  year  was  as  if  in  its  second  youth, 
and  had  some  of  those  charms  of  maturity  which  add 
to  the  beauty  of  that  renascence.  There  were  not  so 
many  birds  singing  as  there  would  have  been  at  the 
same  hour  in  June ;  but  the  air  was  as  clear  and  bright, 
and  from  the  stubble  of  a  piece  of  the  Shakers'  wheat 
the  quails  were  calling,  not  with  the  amorous  entreaty 
of  their  mating-time,  but  with  the  tender  anxiety  of 
parental  love.  At  one  point  a  mother  -  quail,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  waiting  for  the  opportunity  to 
risk  the  lives  of  all  her  chickens  at  once,  scuttled  with 
them  across  the  road  through  the  thick  dust  almost 
under  the  horse's  feet. 

"  Ah,"  Emerance  said,  "  that  was  a  narrow  escape." 

"  You're  sure  it  was  an  escape  ?"  Parthenope  looked 
over  her  shoulder  at  the  road,  which  had  become  in 
visible  in  the  dust. 

"  I  didn't  count  them,  but  I  think  so."  He  leaned 
back  in  the  carryall  seat  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 
"  This  is  better  than  going  to  the  Centennial." 

"  Is  it  ?    I  thought  you  wished  to  go." 

"  I  did  and  I  didn't.  I  can  go  later.  But  it's  so 
good  to  be  driving  along  such  a  road,  such  a  day  as  this, 
that  I  feel  as  if  I  had  made  an  escape.  That's  why 
I'm  so  sure  those  quails  got  safely  away." 

220 


THE  VACATION  OE  THE  KELWYNS 

Parthenope  would  not  smile,  though  she  knew  that 
he  expected  it.  She  said,  "  I  hope  this  is  an  escape, 
too." 

"  You  mean  getting  away  from  the  Kites  ?  I  was 
afraid,"  he  said,  seriously,  "  that  Mrs.  Kelwyn  might 
be  tempted  to  try  staying  on.  It's  not  my  business,  but 
I've  seen  more  and  more  that  it  wouldn't  do." 

"  You  haven't  always  shown  it.  You  have  seemed 
to  think  we  were  wronging  them." 

"  RTot  after  you  had  given  them  a  full  trial.  I  didn't 
want  you  to  have  a  bad  conscience." 

"  Thank  you.  I  don't  know  that  you've  prevented 
that.  My  cousin  thinks  that  they  will  feel  disgraced 
before  their  friends  as  much  by  our  going  as  by  our 
turning  them  out." 

"  Oh,  no  they  won't.  They  remain  in  possession  of 
the  field,  and  so  the  victory  is  theirs.  They  will  console 
themselves." 

"  Mr.  Emerance,"  she  said,  severely,  "  sometimes  I 
think  you  are  really  a  cynic ;  you  seem  to  have  so  little 
consideration  for  others." 

"  Do  I  ?  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  that.  I  don't 
pity  the  Kites  a  great  deal,  for  I  don't  believe  they 
deserve  it,  and  I  don't  want  them  to ;  but  when  have  I 
seemed  wanting  in  consideration  for  any  others  ?" 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  say  ?" 

"  I  do,  indeed." 

Parthenope  gave  herself  time  for  reflection.  She 
thought  of  doing  an  ideal  thing,  of  performing  an  act 
of  self  -  sacrifice  which  would  cost  her  more  than  she 
had  even  allowed  to  herself  that  it  would.  Whether 
she  was  interested  in  Mr.  Emerance  herself  or  not,  per 
haps  for  the  very  reason  that  she  was  interested,  if  she 
was,  it  was  her  duty  to  remind  him  that  he  owed  a  duty 
to  another  whom  he  had  given  reason  to  think  he  was 

221 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

interested  in  her.  This  act  must  be  performed  heroic 
ally,  and  yet  it  must  be  performed  delicately,  and  after 
reflection  that  would  take  the  quality  of  rashness  from 
it  and  leave  her  with  no  regret  on  her  own  account; 
the  sublimity  must  not  be  marred  by  any  absurdity; 
with  whatever  secret  pain,  it  must  be  performed  with 
the  superiority  of  a  witness  of  conduct  on  a  level  be 
low  her  own.  Yet  she  found  herself,  after  due  re 
flection,  saying,  rashly,  personally,  and,  as  it  sounded 
to  her,  spitefully :  "  Don't  you  think  Miss  Nichols  has 
a  right  to  think  you've  been  inconsiderate  ?"  She  tried 
to  look  steadily  at  him,  but  failed  a  little  before  his 
steady  stare. 

"  Miss  Nichols  3    How?    Why?" 

"  Your  leaving  her  so  abruptly,  after  you  had  prom 
ised  to  go  with  her  and  her  friend  to  the  Centennial  ?" 

Since  she  must  be  plain,  Parthenope  spared  herself 
nothing,  and  she  was  strengthened  for  the  effort  by 
her  rising  anger  with  Emerance.  She  had  turned 
pale  with  it,  and  she  reddened  with  resentment 
when  for  first  answer  he  laughed  aloud,  and  then  she 
waited  indignantly  for  him  to  account  for  himself. 

"  I  don't  think  she  will  be  disappointed.  Or  not, 
after  she  reaches  Boston.  I  was  only  going  as  far  as 
Boston,  at  any  rate,  and  she  was  to  meet  some  one  there 
who  would  console  her  for  any  desertion  of  mine.  He 
and  his  sister  are  going  with  her  and  her  friend  to 
Philadelphia  at  once,  and  I  had  expected  to  follow  next 
week." 

Parthenope  was  silent,  while  he  went  on  to  explain 
the  whole  case  with  an  increasing  recognition  of  the 
motive  from  which  she  had  spoken. 

He  carried  this  so  far  that  at  last  she  said,  in  bitter 
confusion :  "  Don't  let  us  speak  of  it  any  more.  I  had 
no  business —  And  I  beg  vour  pardon." 

222 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

"  Oh,  but  if  I  could  only  tell  you  how  much  I  value 
your  having  spoken — " 

"  But  you  can't,  you  mustn't,  and  unless  you  want 
me  to  detest  you — " 

He  stopped,  and  they  drove  on  for  what  seemed  the 
promise  of  indefinite  silence. 

At  last  he  said,  with  an  effort  to  command  their 
lost  cheerfulness,  and  a  smile  that  was  rueful  enough, 
"  And  you  won't  let  me  tell  you  what  the  letter  was 
that  turned  me  back  ?" 

She  consented,  with  an  "  Oh  yes  "  so  listless  that 
it  might  well  have  discouraged  a  man  less  full  of  his 
object.  But  Emerance  seemed  to  find  sufficient  in 
centive  in  it. 

He  brightened  as  he  began.  "  It  was  from  an  actor 
— not  the  one  who  has  let  me  learn  the  theatre  from 
him,  so  far  as  I  know  it,  but  a  friend  of  his,  a  younger 
man,  who  is  looking  for  a  play.  My  friend  showed  mine 
to  him  in  the  rough  draft  I  had  sent  him,  and  he  likes  it. 
He  likes  it  with  enthusiasm;  that  is  their  way  when 
they  like  a  thing  at  all,  though  it  doesn't  mean  that 
they  will  take  it.  But  this  one  wants  to  see  me  and 
talk  it  over,  and  he  has  proposed  coming  up  here  for 
Sunday  —  he's  in  New  York  now  —  and,  of  course,  I 
couldn't  miss  such  a  chance." 

He  seemed  to  refer  the  point  to  Parthenope,  and  she 
said,  abstractedly,  "  No." 

"  It  will  be  more  than  the  Centennial  to  me,"  Emer 
ance  continued,  "  though  I  needn't  miss  that,  either, 
and  do  more  to  decide  my  future.  In  fact,  if  he  takes 
my  play  my  future  is  already  decided." 

He  clearly  expected  some  response  of  interest  and 
sympathy,  and  Parthenope  could  not  withhold  it. 
"  You  ought  to  be  very  happy."  But  she  spoke  coldly. 

"  Oh,  I  am.     This  chance  has  cleared  up  a  lot  of 
223 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

things.  You  can't  imagine  what  a  light  it  has  thrown 
on  them."  As  if  he  had  not  noticed  her  coldness,  he 
talked  on  so  joyously  and  so  full  of  his  theme  that  he 
forgot  their  errand,  and  he  would  have  driven  past  the 
stone  cottage,  when  they  came  to  it,  if  she  had  not  laid 
her  hand  on  the  reins.  "  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked,  and 
then  returned  to  his  mission,  with  a  laugh  at  himself 
and  an  "  Oh !  Somebody  else  might  have  got  the  place 
if  you  hadn't  stopped  me." 

The  husband  and  wife  were  sitting  on  the  cot 
tage  steps,  and  the  man  came  forward  to  the  gate. 
"  Thought  you  might  be  along,  some  of  you.  Well, 
I  suppose  you  don't  want  my  place,"  he  added,  ironical 
ly.  "  Paint  the  ell  part  any  color  you  please,"  he  sug 
gested. 

Emerance  left  the  answer  to  Parthenope.  "  Yes,  we 
want  it,  and  the  question  is  how  soon  can  we  have  it." 

"  To-morrow  do  ?" 

"  We  didn't  quite  expect  it  to-day,"  she  answered,  in 
his  humor. 

"  All  right.  To-morrow  it  is,  then.  That  so  ?"  he 
referred  to  the  lady  who  now  came  to  the  gate,  too. 

"  To-morrow  afternoon,"  she  stipulated.  "  You're 
sure  your  cousin  will  be  satisfied  without  seeing  it  her 
self?" 

"  Oh,  she  will  trust  my  report,"  Parthenope  an 
swered,  from  the  distance  that  persisted  in  putting 
itself  between  her  and  the  actualities  of  life,  where 
she  was  remotely  dramatizing  a  scene  of  final  character 
with  Emerance,  and  defining  her  position  in  regard  to 
his  affairs  with  a  distinctness  which  she  felt  had  been 
wanting  to  it. 

In  the  midst  of  this  she  heard  him  suggesting  an 
interest  very  alien  to  it.  "  There's  a  question  of  trans 
portation,"  he  said  to  the  man,  "  that  I  was  to  consult 

224 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

you  about.  Do  you  know  where  Professor  Kelwyn 
could  get  a  two-horse  team  to  move  his  things  over? 
He  doesn't  want  to  make  more  than  one  trip  of  it." 

"  I  see,"  the  man  said,  intelligently,  but  without 
coming  further  to  the  rescue. 

His  wife  said,  "  I  don't  believe  but  what  Benson 
could  move  them."  She  referred  her  belief  to  her  hus 
band,  who  agreed. 

"  Guess  you're  right — for  once.  Do  you  know  Ben 
son  ?"  he  queried  of  the  pair  before  him. 

Parthenope  left  Emerance  to  say,  "  I'm  afraid  we 
don't  know  where  he  lives,  anyway." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,"  the  owner  of  the  cottage 
said.  "  You  want  to  take  the  first  turn  to  the  left  on 
the  way  to  the  Shakers,  and,  when  you  come  to  a  barn 
with  a  wind-pump  on  it,  that's  Benson's.  Guess  you'll 
find  him  there  about  now." 

Emerance  drove  to  the  Benson  place  without  at 
tempting  to  return  to  the  subject  which  their  business 
had  interrupted.  In  front  of  the  barn,  under  the  shade 
of  an  elm  a  little  at  one  side,  they  saw  a  handsome  two- 
horse  wagon,  with  wheels  picked  out  in  black  and  yel 
low  ;  looking  closer,  they  saw  a  man  lying  on  his  back 
under  the  wagon-bed,  whistling  thoughtfully  and  be 
stowing  some  touches  of  restoration  where  the  paint 
had  been  chipped  off. 

At  Emerance's  friendly  hail  he  came  out,  and  when 
he  stood  up  he  proved  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  with  a  plaster 
ing  of  short,  red  beard  on  his  face  and  a  sort  of  lame 
wink. 

He  listened  to  the  errand  which  Emerance  said 
had  brought  them,  and  then  he  asked,  "  You  the  folks 
been  staying  in  the  old  Family  house  over  to  the 
Shakers?" 

"  Partly,"  Emerance  admitted.     "  I've  been  a  guest 

225 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

on  sufferance,  but  Miss  Brook  is  one  of  Professor  Kel- 
wyn's  family." 

Mr.  Benson  took  Parthenope's  name  for  an  intro 
duction  and  offered  his  hand,  from  which  he  first  wiped 
a  little  paint  on  his  overalls.  "  How  d'ye  do  ?  They 
say  them  Shakers  believe  they're  livin'  the  angelic  life, 
as  they  call  it,  right  here  and  now;  and  I  guess  they 
are  pretty  good  sort  of  folks.  And  some  of  'em  look 
ready  to  go,  if  they  ain't  there  already.  I  tell  my  wife, 
when  I  see  one  them  Shaker  ladies,  I  seem  to  feel  as 
if  she  was  all  laid  out  for  buryin'.  They're  all  finished 
up  so,  you  know,  round  the  neck  " — he  put  his  hand 
to  his  own  throat — "  and  they  keep  themselves  so  neat- 
lookin'."  Having  freed  his  mind  of  the  observation,  he 
took  up  the  business  in  hand,  languidly :  "  I  guess  I 
can  move  ye.  When  d'you  want  I  should  come  ?" 

"  To-morrow  afternoon,"  Emerance  said. 

Mr.  Benson  turned  and  ran  a  critical  eye  over  his 
wagon.  "  I  been  paintin'  her  up  some.  But  I  guess 
she'll  be  dry  by  to-morrow  afternoon.  Yes,  I'll  be 
round  about  three  o'clock,  if  that  '11  do  ye." 

"  Terrible !"  Parthenope  said,  as  they  drove  away. 

"Yes,"  Emerance  admitted;  "it  was  rather  ghast 
ly.  But  in  town  we  forget  what  a  large  part  death 
plays  in  the  social  interests  in  the  country.  A  funeral 
is  a  prized  event,  and  the  particulars  are  talked  over 
to  the  least  detail  for  weeks,  as  often  as  friends  of  the 
family  meet  or  go  to  the  village  for  the  exchange  of 
gossip.  We  try  to  pass  death  over  and  hush  it  up  witH 
flowers,  but  they  cherish  its  acquaintance,  and  value 
themselves  on  every  step  they  see  a  neighbor  taking 
toward  it." 

"  It's  ghoulish." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  ghoulish.  It's  a  remnant  of  the 
strength  of  the  old  Puritan  days  when  people  faced  not 

226 


THE  VACATION  OE  THE  KELWYNS 

only  death  but  damnation — wEen  tKey  were  willing  to 
be  damned  for  the  glory  of  God." 

It  had  always  surprised  Parthenope  a  little  when 
Emerance  ventured  to  differ  with  her,  yet  he  differed, 
she  had  to  realize,  rather  often.  In  some  things  she 
could  put  him  down,  but  on  grounds  like  this  she  felt 
her  inadequacy.  She  said,  wilfully :  "  Then  it's  about 
the  only  remnant  of  Puritanism  left  them  in  this 
neighborhood.  I  think  they're  all  abominable." 

"  You've  seen  the  worst  among  them,  but  I  think 
you've  eeen  some  good  things  in  the  worst.  They're 
not  up  to  the  moral  level  of  the  Shakers,  who  have  the 
immediate  and  instant  help  of  one  another  in  their 
goodness,  but  the  average  life  here  is  good,  and  it's 
not  affected  by  the  intimate  knowledge  of  evil  around 
it;  the  sort  of  knowledge  people  don't  have  in  towns, 
and  which  would  be  depraving  here  if  it  were  not 
guarded  by  the  principles  inherited  from  the  past.  If 
Puritanism  was  false  in  doctrine,  as  we  both  think,  it 
was  true  in  life,  and  it's  as  true  now  as  ever." 

When  Emerance  talked  in  this  way  his  tone  took  on 
something  magisterial,  and  Parthenope  liked  it,  though 
it  quelled  her.  Still,  she  would  not  yield  to  him  till 
she  had  tried  getting  him  on  other  ground  by  indi 
rection,  and  now  she  said  from  her  elevation,  "  I  sup 
pose  your  play  is  to  celebrate  country  people,  then." 

"  If  you  mean  their  real  character,  yes,  it  is ;  but  I 
don't  natter  them." 

"  Oh,  then  you  haven't  got  a  funeral  in  ?" 

Emerance  frowned  at  what  he  might  very  well  have 
felt  an  impertinent  and  wanton  thrust.  Then  his  brow 
cleared  and  his  whole  face  brightened  as  with  a  sud 
den  inspiration.  "  That  would  be  great !  And  it  could 
be  staged  wonderfully — " 

She  burst  out  upon  him.  "  It  would  be  sacrilegious. 

227 


THE  VACATION  OF;  THE  KELWYNS 

Keally,  I  wonder  at  you,  Mr.  Emerance.  To  Have  a 
funeral  on  the  stage !  It  would  be  horrible !" 

"  There's  one  in  Hamlet"  he  rejoined,  steadily,  and 
with  a  readiness  that  took  her  breath.  "  But  I  wouldn't 
have  a  graveyard  scene,  not  the  actual  interment;  just 
a  country  parlor,  with  the  people  seen,  say,  through 
an  open  door,  sitting  in  rows  and  singing.  Perhaps  a 
girl  at  the  melodeon.  It  could  be  made  very  effective." 

"  And  you  are  really  going  to  have  it  ?" 

"  "No.  Or  not  in  this  play.  The  scheme  wouldn't 
include  it.  But  I  shall  certainly  think  the  scene  over 
for  another  play.  I  see  a  long  series  stretching  out 
before  me.  Thank  you  for  suggesting  it." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  suggest  it,  and  your  thanks  don't 
console  me  for  having  put  such  an  idea  into  your  head." 

They  both  perceived  at  this  point  that  the  horse  had 
come  to  a  stop,  and  then  they  saw  that  from  force  of 
habit  he  had  come  to  a  stop  in  front  of  the  Office  at  the 
Shakers. 

Sister  Saranna  showed  herself  at  the  door.  "  Won't 
you  come  in  ?"  she  called  to  them  where  they  sat  dazed 
in  their  wagon.  "  Why,  Friend  Emerance,  I  thought 
you  had  gone  to  the  Centennial !" 

He  looked  round  at  Parthenope  for  some  motion 
on  her  part  to  alight;  as  she  made  none  he  briefly  ex 
plained,  without  giving  the  nature  of  the  business  that 
had  made  him  change  his  plans.  But  what  he  said 
seemed  to  suffice  Sister  Saranna.  She  smiled  gently 
upon  them  both,  and  said  she  thought  it  was  he  when 
she  saw  them  through  the  window;  they  appeared  so 
natural,  there,  coming  together. 

Parthenope,  as  if  this  natural  appearance  needed 
excuse,  said  that  they  had  been  to  the  stone  cottage  to 
engage  it,  and  to  engage  a  wagon  to  take  their  things, 

and  they  were  all  going  to  move  on  the  morrow.     But 

228 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

she  ended  with  a  sort  of  disdain  for  the  elaboration  of 
her  excuse,  which  was  lost  upon  the  Shakeress.  She, 
it  seemed,  had  no  thought  but  for  the  annoyance  of  the 
Kelwyns,  which  was  now  ending  in  their  banishment, 
and  for  the  grief  of  the  Family  at  their  going.  "  Oh, 
we  sha'n't  be  so  far  away,  Sister  Saranna,"  the  girl 
consoled  her.  "  We  will  come  every  Sunday  to  meet 
ing,  and  as  often  to  see  you  as  you'll  let  us." 

"But  you  won't  seem  like  part  of  the  Family  any 
more,"  she  lamented. 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped,  for  now  we  really  are  go 
ing.  Good-bye !  Say  good-bye  to  all  the  Sisters !" 

Even  at  this  hint  Emerance  did  not  start,  and  Par- 
thenope  had  to  say  to  him :  "  I  think  we  had  better  go 
on,  Mr.  Emerance.  I  shall  have  to  help  my  cousin  get 
lunch,  and  there's  a  great  deal  of  packing  to  do  yet." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  chirruping  to  the 
horse.  "  I  was  just  thinking,"  and  he  called  his  fare 
well  in  turn  to  Sister  Saranna. 


XXVI 

AFTER  helping  Parthenope  help  get  luncheon,  Emer 
ance  helped  her  help  get  supper,  Mrs.  Kite  sitting  by 
throughout  with  the  effect  of  being  helped.  "  Well,  it 
seems  like  old  times  to  have  you  two  out  here  together 
workin'  away  just  the  way  you  done  first  off."  After 
reflection,  she  added :  "  I  don't  see  why  we  couldn't  get 
along  together,  after  all.  But  maybe  it  wouldn't  be 
for  the  best.  Land  knows,  we  shall  miss  you  bad 
enough !" 

They  let  her  begin  inuring  herself  to  the  separa 
tion  by  washing  the  supper  dishes  alone.  Emerance 
sat  with  Kelwyn  talking  under  the  elm  -  tree  in  the 
sweet,  dry  summer  evening,  while  Parthenope  bore 
her  part  in  reconciling  the  boys  first  to  their  baths 
and  then  to  their  beds.  She  chased  them  in  their  night 
gowns  round  the  old  Family  meeting-room,  and  then 
left  them  to  their  dreams  after  tiding  them  over  a 
gloomy  moment  of  prayer. 

When  she  came  out  to  the  threshold  she  had  two 
books  in  her  hand.  "  These  ought  to  go  back  to  the 
Alisons,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  know  how  we  overlooked 
them  in  the  packing." 

"  I'll  take  them,"  Emerance  offered,  getting  to  his 
feet  from  his  place  on  the  grass  and  coming  for  them. 
She  did  not  give  them  up  to  him,  or  so  quickly  but  he 
could  say,  "  Why  shouldn't  we  both  take  them  ?" 

"  Well,"  she  temporized,  rather  than  consented. 

"  We're  both  very  tired,"  he  suggested,  "  but  we  could 

230 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

drive,  you  know.     The  horse  wouldn't  like  anything 
better." 

"  He's  tired,  too,  I'm  afraid."  She  continued :  "  If 
it  wouldn't  be  much  farther  round  by  the  village,  we 
could  get  some  things  at  the  store  that  my  cousin  wants 
to  begin  housekeeping  with  in  the  stone  cottage.  She 
wants  a  yeast-cake." 

She  seemed  to  refer  the  point  to  Kelwyn,  who  said, 
gravely,  "  If  it  is  a  question  of  a  yeast-cake,  I  don't 
think  it  would  be  a  great  way  round." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  but  Emerance  had  not  waited 
for  her  to  say  that. 

He  returned  with  the  carryall,  while  Mrs.  Kelwyii, 
who  had  overheard  part  of  the  parley  from  the  window 
overhead,  called  down  some  additional  commissions. 

She  did  not  need  the  things  immediately,  but  if 
Parthenope  was  bent  upon  a  drive  with  Emerance, 
which  she  did  not  approve  of,  she  felt  that  a  mere 
yeast-cake  was  too  barefaced. 

They  took  the  Alisons  in  on  their  way  to  the  village, 
and  found  them,  in  the  interval  between  two  of  the 
man's  sprees,  the  image  of  a  happy  family.  He  was 
smoking  where  he  lay  on  the  ground  near  the  door,  and 
Mrs.  Alison  was  sitting  on  the  threshold,  with  her  chil 
dren,  corrected  from  their  play  by  the  approach  of  com 
pany,  about  her,  and  her  baby  in  her  lap  asleep.  She 
made  the  eldest  girl  take  the  books,  and  she  said, 
"  Well,  I'm  real  sorry  to  have  you  go,  and  I  guess 
the  whole  neighborhood  '11  be." 

"  We're  not  going  far  off,"  Parthenope  said.  "  We 
shall  be  coming  to  borrow  more  books  of  you." 

"  So  do.  We  shall  be  glad  to  have  you.  Want  to 
take  any  now  ?" 

"  Not  now.  There  isn't  time.  We're  going  on  to  the 
village,  and  it's  getting  late." 

231 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

Parthenope  shook  hands  with  the  woman,  and,  after 
a  hesitation,  with  her  husband,  who  desisted  from  his 
talk  with  Emerance  about  crops.  He  had  been  giving 
it  as  his  opinion  that  it  would  do  more  for  the  neigh 
borhood  if  the  Shakers  raised  something  besides  timber. 
So  much  woods  kept  a  place  back  and  made  a  hiding 
for  tramps,  besides  looking  so  lonesome.  "  Well,"  he 
said,  hospitably,  to  Parthenope,  "you  must  come  over 
and  see  the  woman." 

"  Yes,  call  again,"  his  wife  joined  with  him,  as 
Emerance  helped  the  girl  into  the  carryall. 

"We  seem  to  be  leaving  friends  everywhere,"  Par 
thenope  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  We  are  universal  fa 
vorites." 

"  Yes,  you  are  apparently,"  the  young  man  an 
swered,  but  in  a  way  as  if  he  had  not  liked  her 
laughing. 

His  tone  provoked  her  to  say,  "  Perhaps  I  ought  to 
be  more  respectful,  if  you  are  going  to  put  the  Alisons 
into  a  play." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  that  I  am,"  he  said,  and,  though 
she  was  vexed  with  his  sensitiveness,  she  addressed  her 
self  to  soothing  his  peasant-pride,  as  she  called  it  to 
herself.  The  wound,  if  there  was  any,  had  not  gone 
deep,  and  he  accepted  the  kindly  things  she  found  to 
say  of  the  Alisons  as  sufficient  atonement  to  himself. 
They  had  both  forgotten  them  by  the  time  her  shopping 
was  done,  and  she  remounted  with  him  in  the  carryall, 
ready  for  an  amicable  discussion  as  to  which  way  they 
should  keep  on  to  the  village,  whether  by  the  Shakers 
or  by  a  longer  way  and  pleasanter  road  which  the  moon 
light  seemed  to  justify  them  in  taking.  They  had  a 
polite  difficulty  as  to  which  should  yield,  where  neither 
really  cared,  and  the  horse  settled  the  point  for  them 
by  taking  the  shorter  road  by  the  Shakers.  They  com- 

232 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

promised  with  him,  if  they  had  a  preference,  by  letting 
him  walk,  and  prolonging  the  drive  in  that  way. 

Parthenope  was  the  first  to  begin.  "  I  don't  believe 
I  have  made  you  feel  how  glad  I  am  that  your  play  is 
going  to  have  a  chance.  Now,  you  must  tell  me  all 
about  it,  and  just  how  much  of  a  chance  it  has.  Isn't 
it  very  uncommon  to  have  an  actor  willing  to  talk  it  over 
with  you  ?" 

"  It's  uncommon  with  me,"  he  said.  "  It's  more  to 
me  than  I  could  make  you  understand.  It  has  settled 
one  point  effectually.  If  there  is  any  such  hope  as 
there  seems  for  me  as  a  dramatist,  I  should  never 
think  of  being  an  actor." 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Mr.  Emer- 
ance.  Of  course,  it's  your  own  affair,  but  none  of  us 
have  liked  the  notion  of  the  stage  for  you.  Perhaps 
you  think  we  had  no  business  to  talk  you  over." 

'"  I  like  your  making  it  your  business.  But  Pve  had 
my  revenge,  if  I  was  wronged  by  your  talking  me  over ; 
I've  been  thinking  you  over." 

"And  what  did  you  think  of  us — from  your  point 
of  view?  Be  candid!  I  should  really  like  to  know." 

"  Collectively  or  individually  ?"  he  met  her  playful 
ness. 

"  Now  you're  trying  to  shirk,  or  at  least  to  temporize. 
Treat  us  any  way  you  like." 

"Well,  individually,  then.  And  I'll  begin  with 
you." 

"  No,  not  with  me,  decidedly !" 

"  But  I've  begun  already." 

"  Well,  then,  my  faults  first,  if  you  have  the  cour 
age." 

"  Oh,  I  have  the  courage.  That  actor's  letter  has 
given  me  courage  for  anything  to-day.  I  shouldn't  be 
afraid  to  tell  you  of  your  faults,  if  you  had  any." 

233 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  Now,  that  is  a  shirk." 

"  He's  given  me  hope  that  I  couldn't  have  imagined 
having/'  he  waived  her  point.  "  He's  provided  such 
a  magnificent  fiiture  for  me  that  all  my  groping  past 
and  hesitating  present  have  been  redeemed  by  him." 

"  Aren't  you  rather  figurative,  Mr.  Emerance,  for  a 
dramatist  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  you  wanted  me  to  be  less 
so!  Parthenope,"  he  said,  and  at  this  first  sound  of 
her  name  from  his  lips  she  felt  a  wild,  glad  thrilling, 
which  she  had  to  summon  all  her  moral,  social,  and 
psychological  forces  to  quell,  "  don't  you  know  what  I 
mean?  Don't  you  know  that  this  new  hope  of  mine 
would  be  nothing  if  it  were  not  the  hope  of  you?' '  She 
was  dumb  past  all  her  expectation  and  resolution,  and 
he  rushed  on :  "  You  must  know  that  I  care  for  you, 
and  that  the  dearest  wish  of  my  life —  You  have  been 
so  good  to  me,  so  trustful  of  me,  and  hopeful  for  mo 
that  I've  come  to  think — to  think  that  you  cared  for 
me,  too.  Tell  me  I'm  not  wrong !" 

He  had  possessed  himself  of  her  hands,  which  he  had 
dropped  the  reins  to  seize,  with  a  faith  in  the  horse's 
resources  of  self  -  guidance  which  it  justified  in  con 
tinuing  on  at  the  same  pace  as  when  driven,  and  swerv 
ing  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left  in  the  white  moon 
light. 

Parthenope  let  him  keep  Her  hands ;  it  was  somehow 
so  sweet,  for  the  appreciable  instant  before  she  began, 
as  if  struggling  from  some  far  trance :  "  Mr.  Emerance, 
I'm  sorry  you've  said  this ;  very,  very  sorry,"  and  then 
she  was  strangely  at  the  end  of  her  words,  and  he  had 
to  prompt  her. 

"  But  surely  you  must  have  thought  I  cared  for 
you?" 

"  If  I  did  I  was  very  wrong  to  let  you.    I  blame  my- 

234 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

self,  oh,  very  much.  I've  let  my  selfish  pleasure  in 
your  society — it  lias  been  pleasant — blind  me  to  what 
I  ought  to  have  seen — if  you  say  I  ought." 

"  Ah,  I  don't  say  it !"  he  said. 

"  No,  no !  You  are  too  generous.  But  you  think  it ; 
yes.  you  have  a  right  to  think  it.  I  can  see  that  now, 
when  it's  too  late.  But,  indeed,  it  can  never  be." 

Whether  there  was  or  not  something  indefinite,  or 
only  something  withheld  in  her  tone,  he  asked,  "  If 
there  is  some  one  else — " 

"Oh,  no!  Never!  You  mustn't  think  it's  that. 
But  I  can  live  my  life  more  usefully  by  myself." 

"  Do  you  say  that,"  he  persisted,  "  to  save  me  from 
thinking  myself  unworthy — " 

"  Don't !"  she  entreated,  "  or  I  can't  forgive  myself," 
and  now  he  was  silent,  and  she  could  go  on  in  such 
haphazard  phrases  as  offered  themselves.  "  We  are 
too  unlike — unlike  in  our  ideals.  I  don't  mean  yours 
are  not  better,  higher  than  mine.  But  we've  been 
brought  up  in  such  different  worlds  we  never  should 
understand  each  other.  I  should  always  be  unjust  to 
you." 

"  Do  you  mean  my  experimenting,  as  you  call  it  ? 
That's  over,  now." 

"  No,  no.    It  isn't  that." 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  "  that  my  world  hasn't  been  like 
yours.  Our  traditions  are  different,  but  I  hope  not  our 
principles.  I've  tried  to  make  the  most  of  myself,  and 
not  selfishly,  always — " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Emerance!" 

"Ever  since  I  first  saw  you,  Parthenope —  But  I 
mustn't  call  you  so!" 

"  Oh  yes.  What  does  it  matter  now  ?"  she  consented, 
desolately. 

"  You  have  been  my  ideal.     It  isn't  your  beauty 

16  235 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

alone,  but  I  love  your  beauty.  I  liked  your  self- 
reliance,  even  when  I  thought  you  were  wrong.  It 
charmed  me.  And  I  liked  your  absolute  truth.  That 
was  charming,  too.  But  what  is  the  use,  now?" 

"  I  ought  to  hear  anything  you  wish  to  say.  You 
have  the  right  to  say  anything  to  me." 

"  That's  your  justice.  Your  justice  was  what  took 
me  most  of  all." 

There  was  something  intoxicating  in  his  praises,  but 
if  she  refused  him  she  must  refuse  them.  "  You  don't 
know  me.  I'm  not  what  you  think.  But  you,  you  are 
a  poet;  you  have  imagination;  you  live  in  the  ideal. 
Yes,  I  saw  that  from  the  first.  You  will  succeed ;  you 
will  be  great,  and  you  will  be  glad  that  you  were  not 
clogged  with  me." 

"  I  can  never  be  anything  without  you — never  any 
thing  but  a  dreamer  and  experimenter,  a  mere  em 
piricist." 

Parthenope  was  not  sure  that  she  knew  what  this 
meant ;  the  word  was  strange  to  her,  but  she  understood 
a  self-reproach  from  it  which  she  must  not  suffer  in 
him.  "  No,"  she  began. 

He  would  not  heed  her  protest.  "But  you,  you 
could  make  up  for  all  my  shortcomings.  You  could 
make  a  man  of  me — any  sort  of  man  you  wanted." 

"  It's  very  sweet  of  you  to  say  that,  and  I  ought  to 
be  proud.  I  ought  to  be  grateful,  and  I  am.  But  it  all 
comes  to  nothing  if  I  have  not  the  feeling  I  ought  to 
have." 

"  But  perhaps  you  have,  Parthenope.  Can't  we  rea 
son  it  out  together  ?" 

"  No ;  if  I  could  reason  about  it  I'm  sure  I  shouldn't 
have  it." 

"  That  seems  very  strange :  that  reason  can  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  highest  and  humanest  thing  in 

236 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

the  world.  If  you  could  give  yourself  time  to  look  into 
your  feelings — " 

"  No.  If  I  cared  for  you  I  should  know  it  without 
looking  into  my  feelings,  and  it  would  be  absurd  to 
reason  about  it." 

This  silenced  him.  "  Well,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  that 
ends  it,  I  suppose.  Get  up,"  he  said  to  the  old  horse, 
which  had  come  to  a  stand  unbidden,  with  a  yearning 
twist  of  his  head  toward  the  Office  of  the  Shakers,  be 
fore  which  they  found  themselves  pausing.  The  win 
dows  were  dark,  but  those  of  one  of  the  houses  on  the 
other  hand  were  bright,  and  as  they  started  on  a  burst 
of  singing  in  one  of  the  weird,  sad  Shaker  tunes  fol 
lowed  them  from  it.  He  said,  with  a  bitterness  that 
went  to  her  heart,  "  They've  got  rid  of  it  all." 

Parthenope  suddenly  realized  it:  the  Shakers  had 
got  rid  of  love,  and  all  that  came  of  it.  She  had  never 
meant  to  do  that.  She  was  rather  vague  about  it,  as 
cultivated  girls  often  are;  she  had  always  expected  to 
be  married  when  she  met  her  ideal;  but  there  would 
be  time  enough.  Now,  however,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
she  had  been  very  cruel,  and  her  soul  bowed  in  pity 
over  the  man  who  had  offered  her  his  love.  She  could 
not  deny  to  herself  that  what  had  happened  was  some 
thing  she  ought  to  have  expected;  she  knew  very  well 
that  there  had  been  moments  when  she  had  thought  it 
would  be  best  for  it  to  come  to  this,  if  only  it  might  well 
be  over  with.  But  it  was  not  well  over  with  as  it  ought 
logically  to  have  been ;  it  was  very  ill  over  with. 

She  imagined  his  anguish  from  her  own  pain  and 
with  some  sense  of  the  mortification  a  man  must  ex 
perience,  even  in  the  best  conditions,  at  a  woman's  re 
fusal.  She  had  sometimes  fancied  that  a  refusal  could 
be  made  with  expressions  that  would  render  it  almost 
flatteringly  acceptable;  but  now  she  realized  that  it 

237 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

never  could  be  so.  It  must  always  be  disappointment 
and  humiliation;  and  she  had  inflicted  these  upon  a 
man  whose  goodness  she  owned  as  greater  than  that  of 
any  man  she  had  yet  known ;  a  generous  spirit,  full  of 
ambition  and  the  power  that  the  future  would  turn  into 
success.  His  very  consciousness  of  this  must  add  to 
his  shame.  She  wished  he  would  say  something;  in 
the  time  before  the  word  had  come  into  use  she  sug 
gested  his  saying  something,  but  her  hypnotic  forces 
failed.  The  moment  came  when  she  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  and  as  they  passed  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods 
that  darkened  on  each  side  of  the  road  before  they 
reached  home  she  put  out  her  hand  on  his  that  lay 
listlessly  holding  the  reins  on  his  knee.  She  wished 
to  be  appealing  and  consoling,  and  she  could  only  say, 
"  I  am  sorry  for  it." 

He  answered  in  terms  which  she  felt  her  atonement 
did  not  justify,  but  which  she  would  not  allow  herself 
to  resent,  "  Are  you,  dearest  ?"  At  the  same  time  he 
put  his  right  hand  on  hers  and  held  it  between  his 
two. 

She  did  not  try  to  take  it  away,  and  it  trembled 
there  as  she  tried  to  explain.  "Don't  you  see  that 
if  I —  It  would  only  be  from  pity,  and — " 

"  Pity  would  be  good  enough  for  me,"  he  answered, 
and  his  humility  seemed  the  crowning  effect  of  his 
magnanimity. 

"  Oh,  but  it  oughtn't  to  be,"  she  instructed  him.  "  It 
would  make  it  such  an  unequal  thing.  You  wanted  me 
to  reason  about  it,  and  now  I  will,  for  that  is  your  due. 
Yes,  I  owe  you  that.  I  don't  want  you  to  regret  me; 
I  would  rather  you  would  think  I  was  weak  than  heart 
less.  Don't  you  believe  I  understand  you  ?" 

She  could  not  say,  "  How  you  feel,"  but  perhaps  he 
knew  what  she  meant. 

238 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"Don't  you  think  every  one  ought  to  marry  their 
ideal?" 

"  You  are  my  ideal/'  he  said,  and  he  took  the  reins 
into  his  right  hand  that  he  might  keep  the  better  hold 
of  hers  in  his  left.  It  was  absurd,  and  it  was  distract 
ing  ;  but,  if  she  was  to  make  atonement  to  him,  it  could 
not  be  helped,  at  once. 

"But  that  isn't  enough,"  she  said,  and  she  pressed 
his  hand  for  emphasis,  "  if  you  are  not  my  ideal — 
There,  I  have  hurt  you!"  she  said,  feeling  him  wince. 

"  "No.  Will  you  tell  me  what  your  ideal  is  ?  I 
would  try  to  realize  it." 

"Well,  you  have  said  it.  My  ideal  could  never  be 
realized  by  experimenting,  and  that  is  why  I  have  al 
ways  blamed  you.  Your  aims  have  been  too  uncertain ; 
you  haven't  known  your  own  mind." 

"  I've  known  it  on  one  point  ever  since  I  saw  you, 
Parthenope." 

"  You  mustn't  be  trivial.  I  thought  you  wanted  me 
to  reason  with  you." 

"  I  do." 

"  Well " — she  hesitated  from  a  wandering  thought 
— "  then,  a  man,"  she  said,  "  ought  to  have  one  aim 
and  pursue  it  unswervingly.  It  mustn't  be  a  selfish 
aim,  and  it  must  be  a  high  one.  He  must  want  to  be 
of  use  in  the  world,  and  yet  he  must  have  a  love  of  the 
beautiful.  He  ought  to  be  philanthropical,  but  not 
professionally  philanthropical ;  that's  rather  weakening. 
I  should  not  care  what  his  calling  was,  and  I  shouldn't 
care  what  his  looks  were;  he  might  be  ugly  and  de 
formed  and  yet  perfectly  radiant.  And — every  woman 
likes  to  be  thought  worth  an  effort; — he  ought  to  have 
done  something  specially  great,  and  for  her.  There! 
I  know  it  sounds  ridiculous,  but  you  are  too  noble  to 
laugh  at  it,  and  that  has  always  been  my  ideal.  Of 

239 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

course,  I'm  not  wortHy  of  it  myself."  She  did  not  take 
her  hand  away  at  this  climax,  though  she  made  a  slight 
effort  to  do  so.  "  I  could  die  for  such  an  ideal,  and, 
whatever  you  think,  that  is  how  I  feel." 

"  Then  I  think,"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  indignation, 
"  that  you  are  far  more  than  worthy.  And  may  I  do 
a  little  reasoning,  too  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  push  of  her  hand  in 
his,  as  if  to  fix  her  attention,  "  I  expected  you  to." 

"  Well,  I  would  rather  be  an  ideal  which  you  would 
be  willing  to  live  for.  I  should  like  to  be  some  falter 
ing,  imperfect  creature  that  you  could  strengthen  and 
straighten  into  the  sort  of  man  you  would  like  him  to 
be.  I  believe  you  would  be  happier  in  that  than  in 
dying  for  somebody  who  didn't  need  you.  How  could 
you  be  of  use  to  a  man  who  didn't  need  you  ?  No,  you 
are  full  of  help,  and  uselessness  would  be  solitude  and 
exile  to  you,  dearest.  But  with  a  man  whom  you  could 
advise  and  inspire  when  he  was  going  wrong,  who 
would  value  your  criticism  and  appreciate  your  taste, 
and  come  to  know  your  sweetness  and  your  brightness, 
to  live  in  the  light  of  your  mind —  Well,  I  suppose 
it  is  no  use  talking,"  he  ended,  and  his  hand  relaxed 
from  hers  as  if  she  might  have  it  back  now.  But  she 
would  not  have  it  back;  she  caught  his  faster,  and  she 
said: 

"  And  you  would  be  willing  to  try — " 

"To  experiment?" 

"  Yes,  experiment !  And  if  I  disappointed  you — if 
I  wasn't  at  all  what  you  expected — " 

"  I  supposed  we  were  reasoning!" 

"  And  may  I  think — must  I  answer  now — may  I 
have  time — " 

"  All  the  time  there  is,  dear." 

"  I'm  not  sure  you  ought  to  call  me  dear — yet." 

240 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  I  won't  till  you  let  me." 

"  I  won't  make  you  wait.  I  should  despise  myself 
if  I  didn't  know  now.  And  if  you  believe  you'll  never 
Le  sorry — " 

"With  all  my  soul!" 

"  Then — then  you  may  call  me  Parthenope."  She 
said,  after  a  moment:  "  And  I  suppose  I  must  call  you 
Elihu.  How  came  they  to  give  you  such  a  name?" 
She  took  refuge  in  the  collateral  question  from  the 
vital  demands  directly  pressing  upon  her.  "  I've  al 
ways  wondered.  Were  they  very  Biblical  ?" 

"  Not  very.    They  called  me  after  Elihu  Burritt." 

"  Oh,  that's  where  the  '  B  '  came  from.  And  who 
was  he?" 

"  He  was  the  learned  blacksmith.  He  was  a  famous 
linguist,  and  my  father  admired  him  because  he  taught 
himself  the  languages." 

"  Tell  me  about  your  father  and  your  mother."  She 
questioned  him,  and  he  answered  at  what  length  she 
would;  they  had  long  been  dead;  he  had  two  brothers 
living;  she  thought  she  could  manage  with  them;  and 
he  had  no  sisters.  "  And  do  you  want  me  to  call  you 
Elyhu  or  Ellihu?  Ellihu  is  wrong,  isn't  it?" 

"  Not  if  you  call  it  so." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  like  pretty  speeches  very  much. 
But  I  don't  object  for  the  time  being.  Did  they  call 
you  Ellihu  ?  Because  if  they  did,  I  shall.  If  this  "— 
she  pressed  his  hand  for  explanation — "  is  for  eternity, 
it's  for  all  our  past  as  well  as  all  our  future.  Ellihu, 
Ellihu,  Ellihu,"  she  murmured,  thoughtfully.  "It's 
nicer  than  Elyhu;  yes,  it's  rather  nice."  She  said, 
rather  more  shyly  than  her  wont  was,  "  You  don't  ask 
me  how  I  came  to  know  your  first  name." 

"  I  hadn't  thought —  I  supposed  you  always  knew 
it." 

241 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

<"  Isn't  that  a  little  conceited  ?  And  you  haven't  any 
curiosity  now?  You  don't  deserve  to  know!  I  saw  it 
in  a  book  of  yours.  Do  you  call  that  prying?  But  I 
couldn't  imagine  what  the  '  B  '  was  for.  How  do  you 
like  my  name  ?" 

"  I  always  thought  it  was  like  you.  How  came  they 
to  call  you  so  ?7' 

Parthenope  told  gladly  but  quickly,  so  as  not  to  de 
lay  another  branch  of  the  inquiry.  "  It's  rather  for 
midable.  But  I  shall  never  do  anything  in  art;  my 
mother  didn't  at  the  last.  I  want  to  be  completely 
subordinate  to  you  in  everything.  I  shall  have  no 
ambition  except  for  you.  I  suppose  some  people  would 
say  that  naturally  I  was  rather  topping  in  my  general 
character.  But  with  you  I  don't  care  to  be  so  because 
you've  seen  me  humiliated  so  often.  I  sha'n't  mind  you 
laughing,  now  and  then,  at  me." 

"  Oh !"  he  protested. 

"Yes,"  she  persisted.  "With  the  bear  and  the 
gypsies;  you  know  I've  been  ridiculous.  "Now  I  shall 
have  no  pride  except  in  you." 

"  Do  you  want  to  spoil  me  at  once  ?"  he  joked. 

"  It  would  be  no  use  trying.  You  are  too  truly 
modest,  too  sweet." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Because  I'm  not  sweet,  generally  speaking.  You'll 
find  that  out,  too.  But  I  shall  be  ashamed  not  to  be, 
when  I  have  you  to  rebuke  me  by  your  example.  And 
from  this  time  forth  sweetness  shall  be  one  of  my 
ideals.  Oh  yes,  Aunt  Julia  will  like  you."  She  put 
stress  on  the  name,  as  if  there  were  some  other  aunt 
who  might  be  doubtful. 

Parthenope  came  in  to  wliere  Mrs.  Kelwyn  was  put 
ting  some  of  the  last  touches  to  her  packing,  with  her 

242 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

eyes  blinking  in  the  lamplight,  but  her  face  glowing 
with  the  impulse  which  had  carried  her  to  her  decision 
and  was  still  moving  her  to  immediate  action. 

"  Cousin  Carry/'  she  said,  abruptly,  "  I  shall  only 
stay  with  you  to  get  you  settled  in  the  stone  cottage. 
I  must  see  my  aunt  Julia  at  once." 

"Why,  Parthenope  Brook!"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  ex 
claimed,  and  in  her  exclamation  she  expressed,  with 
a  woman's  subtilized  and  compacted  challenge,  every 
thing  that  she  did  not  demand. 

"  Yes,  I  have,7'  Parthenope  responded  to  her  im 
plied  question.  "  And  he  is  going  to  Boston  with  me, 
for  I  want  Aunt  Julia  to  have  the  evidence  of  her 
senses  when  I  tell  her  what  a  wild  thing  I  have  done." 

She  went  out,  and  then  she  came  back  to  add :  "  I 
know  that  you  and  Cousin  Elmer  won't  approve  of  it, 
and  so  I  have  not  consulted  you.  It  isn't  because  I  have 
such  great  faith  in  my  own  judgment;  it's  because  I 
trust  his  judgment.  If  he  thinks  it  is  right  and  wise ! 
Don't  you  see?" 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  assented.  But  she  qualified, 
"  I  see  what  your  point  of  view  is." 

They  had  to  pretend  they  would  go  no  further  now 
than  the  general  recognition  of  the  great  fact.  Then 
they  talked  it  out  to  the  least  historical  and  actual 
detail. 


XXVII 

THE  trials  of  the  Kelwyns  had  become  noted  in  the 
country  round,  and  they  both  woke  with  the  same  vague 
dread  in  their  mind,  which  resolved  itself  into  the  ap 
prehension  that  the  neighbors  might  come  to  see  them 
off  in  a  show  of  public  sympathy.  But  on  reflection 
this  fear  yielded  to  the  fact  that  it  was  not  yet  known 
much  beyond  the  Shakers  that  they  were  going;  it  was 
commonly  supposed  that  the  Kites  were  going,  and  no 
time  was  fixed  yet  for  that. 

In  the  forenoon  Elder  Nathaniel  came  with  a  final 
bunch  of  flowers  for  Parthenope,  and  with  affectionate 
messages  from  the  Sisters  to  Mrs.  Kelwyn.  He  said 
that  Brother  Jasper  had  gone  to  Boston,  and  he  added, 
indirectly,  that  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well.  The 
Family,  he  said,  hoped  that  the  Kelwyns  and  all  their 
folks  would  come  the  same  as  ever;  they  would  not  be 
a  great  way  off. 

Mrs.  Ager  came  from  over  the  way,  and  in  making 
her  first  and  last  call  she  did  not  spare  the  cause  of 
their  exile.  She  said  that  they  ought  to  have  turned 
the  Kites  out,  and,  in  view  of  the  good  offices  which 
they  must  often  have  rendered  her  in  her  loneliness, 
she  was,  Kelwyn  thought,  perhaps  too  impartially 
severe,  but  he  attributed  her  censorious  frame  of 
mind  rather  to  her  years  than  to  a  temperamental 
harshness.  What  touched  them  all  more  than  Mrs. 
Ager's  rigid  virtue  was  the  offering  with  which  Mrs. 
Alison  appeared,  just  before  they  sat  down  to  luncheon, 

244 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

which  they  had  early.  She  led  thb  youngest  of  her 
children  that  could  walk,  in  a  gingham  slip  typically 
washed  and  ironed,  with  a  remoter  following  of  her 
uncombed  and  barefooted  brood.  She  carried  her  baby 
in  her  arms,  and  made  shift  to  hold  in  a  hand  tight 
pressed  against  its  back  a  book  which  she  presented  to 
Parthenope.  "  It's  one,"  she  explained,  with  a  coun 
try  confidence  in  her  pronouns,  "  that  his  uncle  give 
him,  and  he  wants  you  should  have  it,"  and  she  held 
out  a  worn  volume  of  Cooper,  which  Parthenope  took, 
when  she  had  made  sure  it  was  not  merely  a  loan,  with 
a  gratitude  which  seemed  to  please,  though  it  did  not 
change  the  unsmiling  face  of  the  giver.  "  He  ain't 
ever  read  it,  and  he'd  just  as  lieves  you'd  have  it  as 
not,"  she  said,  in  conclusion,  leaving  the  remark  to 
find  its  own  place  in  the  order  of  their  conversation. 
"  I  told  him  about  you  makin'  me  come  in  that 
night." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  and  thank  Mr.  'Alison,  for  me.  I 
shall  always  keep  the  book  to  remember  you  by,  both 
of  you.  I  don't  suppose  I  can  come  to  see  you  soon 
again ;  I'm  going  back  to  Boston  in  a  few  days."  Mrs. 
'Alison  had  nothing  to  say  in  opposition  to  this,  and  she 
said  nothing.  "  And  I  sha'n't  forget  what  you  said 
that  night,  Mrs.  Alison ;  it  was  beautiful.  Might  I  kiss 
the  baby?"  Parthenope  asked,  impulsively,  and,  after 
a  moment's  hesitation,  she  took  the  mother  in  her  arms, 
too,  and  kissed  her  on  either  gaunt  cheek.  It  was  not 
quite  in  character  with  Parthenope,  but  it  was  not  out 
of  keeping  with  the  mood  toward  all  the  world  in  which 
she  found  herself. 

Mrs.  Alison  caught  herself  away,  with  a  shrill  screech 
to  her  children.  "  Come  here  this  minute !  You  all 
want  to  get  killed  ?" 

Parthenope  looked  round  and  saw  what  Mrs.  Alison 

245 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

had  already  seen  over  her  shoulder :  the  bear-leader  and 
the  bear  advancing  doubtfully  toward  them,  with  a 
choral  attendance  of  the  two  Kelwyn  boys  and  the  Kite 
boy  leaping  into  the  air  with  cries  of  joy. 

"  Oh,  papa !  Oh,  mamma !"  Francy  shouted  to  the 
upper  windows.  "  It's  the  bear !  It's  the  same  bear ! 
Mayn't  he  let  him  dance  ?" 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  scolded  them  to  silence  from  her  win 
dow  and  bade  them  come  in,  but  their  father  came 
down  to  the  door,  and  then  they  stayed.  Emerance 
appeared  with  Raney  from  the  barn,  where  they  had 
been  mending  the  curtains  of  the  carryall. 

He  was  frowning  as  if  in  criticism  of  some  sug 
gestion  that  had  tacitly  offered  itself,  and  he  smiled 
rather  absently  when  Kelwyn  said:  "This  is  getting 
to  be  something  like  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  But  we 
need  your  gypsy  van  to  complete  the  round-up  of  char 
acters.  Parthenope,  where  are  your  gypsies  ?" 

For  the  first  time  the  girl  looked  to  a  man  for  guid 
ance  in  her  reply.  She  looked  to  Emerance,  who  said: 
"  I  wish  they  were  here.  But  I  doubt  whether  their 
assortment  of  draft  and  led  horses  could  stand  the 
bear." 

He  still  wore  his  critical  frown,  and  Parthenope  in 
terpreted  while  she  submitted :  "  Are  you  going  to  have 
the  bear  in?" 

Emerance  laughed,  shamefacedly,  "  It  would  make 
an  effective  episode!" 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  rejoiced,  in  a  passage  which  left 
them  in  a  secret  together ;  but  now  she  felt  the  necessity 
of  using  her  novel  powers  of  rule,  which  a  girl  who  is 
engaged  begins  instinctively  to  use.  "  I  wish  you  would 
go  up  into  the  dancing-room  and  get  my  sketching-block. 
I'll  scratch  them  down  if  Raney  will  ask  them  to  pose." 

Emerance  obeyed  in  a  lover's  glad  servility,  and  she 

246 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWTNS 

sat  down  on  the  threshold-stone  to  get  her  picture,  after 
Raney  had  made  the  bear-leader  comprehend  that  he 
and  his  bear  were  wanted  to  stand  for  their  portraits 
instead  of  performing  their  drama. 

Mrs.  Kite  had  left  something  to  burn  in  her  oven, 
while  she  looked  over  the  artist's  shoulder.  "  Well, 
the  land!"  she  cried  out,  in  wonder.  A  tell-tale  odor 
stole  from  the  kitchen,  and  she  called,  with  a  cheerful 
laugh,  to  Mrs.  Kelwyn,  "  Well,  I  guess  your  cake  will 
be  done  enough  this  time,"  which  was  her  way  of  let 
ting  Mrs.  Kelwyn  know  that  she  had  meant  to  make 
her  an  offering  for  the  refreshment  of  the  Kelwyn 
family  on  the  way  to  their  new  place. 

Parthenope  felt  Entrance's  eyes  upon  her.  He 
thought  they  were  on  her  work,  but  they  were  really 
on  her ;  on  her  cinnamon  hair ;  on  the  tilt  of  Her  head 
this  way  and  that,  up  and  down,  as  the  practice  of  her 
art  required ;  on  the  nape  of  her  neck  and  her  close-set 
little  ears;  on  the  droop  of  her  shoulders,  and  on  the 
play  of  her  long,  capable  fingers.  She  felt  the  warmth 
of  his  gaze  in  all  these  places  as  he  stood  behind  her, 
and  she  felt  a  bliss  in  it  such  as  she  had  never  imagined 
before.  It  was  not  at  all  the  exaltation  she  had  ex 
pected  in  her  love  for  the  hero  of  her  dreams,  and,  in 
fact,  Emerance  was  not  that  hero,  though  she  found 
that  she  liked  him  better  than  if  he  had  been.  In  der 
ivation  and  education  he  was  entirely  middle-class,  as 
far  removed  from  what  was  plebeian  as  what  was 
patrician.  He  had  not  come  out  of  the  new  earth, 
which  would  have  been  heroic;  he  had  sprung  from 
soil  wrought  for  generations,  on  the  common  level, 
which  was  average.  He  had  been  public  -  schooled 
for  a  public-school  teacher,  and,  if  he  had  something 
like  an  impulse  of  genius,  it  had  been  toward  a  calling 
which  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  did  not  respect. 

247 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

If  chance  had  saved  him  from  responding  to  this,  it 
was  by  too  bare  a  chance  that  he  should  now  succeed 
as  a  playwright  instead  of  a  player.  He  had  been 
willing  to  experiment  with  either  career;  he  was,  as 
he  said,  an  empiricist;  he  was  a  mere  opportunist,  as 
she  would  have  said  later;  and  he  had  no  decision  of 
character.  Yet  he  had  charm,  charm  that  she  felt  now 
in  his  mere  presence,  in  his  nearness  to  her.  What 
his  charm  was  she  could  not  have  said,  unless  it  was 
his  goodness.  It  must  be  that,  for  now,  when  she  was 
so  blest  in  him,  she  did  not  feel  any  more  or  any  less 
than  she  felt  at  the  very  beginning  that  he  was  good. 
There  was  rest  in  that,  there  was  peace.  When  at  last 
she  lifted  her  head  back  and  looked  at  her  sketch,  she 
turned  her  face  up  to  ask  him,  "  Is  it  anything  like  ?" 

"  It's  wonderful,"  he  said,  stooping  on  one  knee  be 
side  her  and  bringing  his  face  close  to  hers  to  get  her 
point  of  view.  "  I  don't  understand  how  you  do  it.  Is 
it — is  it — good  ?"  he  pursued,  humbly. 

"  Good  enough  for  me,  if  you  think  it's  wonderful." 
She  turned  her  eyes  to  his,  and  a  mist  came  between 
them.  "  But  otherwise  I  think  it's  rather  feeble. 
You're  not  going  to  marry  a  Rosa  Bonheur,  you 
know."  She  laughed,  and  he  laughed  with  her;  they 
did  not  know  why. 

"  We'll  keep  it  as  a  memento  of  that  first  day,"  he 
suggested. 

u  Well,"  she  assented,  rising. 

She  felt  in  the  pocket  which  women's  dresses  had  in 
that  day,  and  Emerance  saw  from  her  face  that  she 
found  it  empty.  He  divined  also  that  she  wished  to 
pay  the  man,  if  not  the  bear,  for  posing,  and  he  said, 
"  Let  me  give  him  something." 

She  stared  absently  and  then  submitted.    "  I  suppose 

you'll  have  to,  after  this.     It  isn't  the  first  time." 

248 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

The  bear-leader  took  the  money,  and,  after  recog 
nizing  himself  in  Parthenope's  sketch,  he  said  good 
bye,  with  ceremonies  in  which  the  bear  was  obliged  to 
share.  Then  they  went  away  down  the  road,  and  Raney 
started  toward  the  barn.  But  Parthenope  stayed  him 
with  a  question  which  had  occurred  to  her  through  her 
knowledge  of  French  while  she  was  sketching  and  try 
ing  not  to  be  conscious  of  Emerance. 

"  What  was  that  he  kept  saying  to  you  about  the 
brave  boy  ?" 

Raney  grinned.  "  He  want  me  to  thank  Arthur  for 
bring  him  something  to  eat  in  that  shanty  in  the  woods 
when  he'll  be  sick  with  his  bear." 

"  When  he  was  sick  in  the  shanty  ?"  she  pursued. 

"  With  rheumatism  after  that  big  storm." 

"  And  Arthur  carried  food  to  him  ?"  Raney  nodded. 
"  Well !  But  what  kind  of  food  did  you  carry  him  ?" 

Arthur  had  now  become  the  centre  of  a  general  in 
terest  which  did  not  inconvenience  him,  and  he  kept 
a  stolid  reserve  under  the  pressure  of  this  question. 

Raney  answered  for  him,  still  grinning,  "  The  man 
said  he  bring  those  pies." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Arthur !"  his  mother,  who  had  hurried 
back  from  the  kitchen,  burst  out  in  the  sudden  light 
which  the  fact  cast  upon  a  dark  point  of  history,  "  so 
you  was  the  rat,  was  you?  I'll  attend  to  you  when  I 
get  round  to  you  once,"  she  threatened  him,  but  with 
such  open  pride  and  joy  in  his  guilt  as  not  to  alarm 
him  seriously.  It  was  not  his  principle  to  show  any 
kind  of  feeling,  and  he  now  remained  cold  amidst  the 
rays  of  wonder  centring  upon  him  from  all  eyes. 

"  Emerance,"  Kelwyn  said  from  that  side  of  his 
mind  which  his  wife  never  felt  sure  she  approved, 
"we  seem  to  be  standing  in  the  presence  of  a  hero. 
What  do  you  think  ought  to  be  done  with  him?  It's 

249 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

all  very  well  for  a  hero  to  feed  pies  to  a  sick  bear 
leader  and  his  bear — the  bear  ate  the  pies,  too?"  he 
turned  to  the  boy  who  rubbed  the  path  with  his  toe 
and  dropped  his  gaze.  "  But  is  it  right  for  a  hero  to 
steal  his  mother's  pies  for  the  purpose?" 

"  I  suppose,"  Emerance  reflected,  "  that  it's  always 
a  question  whether  a  child  can  steal,  strictly  speaking, 
from  its  parents;  and  I've  understood  that  strategy  of 
all  kinds,  even  to  the  supression  of  truth,  is  allowable 
in  a  hero." 

"  But  if  such  a  hero  were  a  pupil  of  yours,  what 
would  you  do  with  him  ?" 

"  Well,  I  should  begin  by  keeping  him  after  school 
and  looking  carefully  into  the  case." 

"  How  perfectly  cold  -  blooded !"  Parthenope  broke 
out.  "  I  think  he  did  right,  and  I  should  praise  him 
before  the  whole  school." 

Emerance  looked  round  at  her  with  returning  seri 
ousness.  "  I  doubt  if  you  could  do  that  exactly." 

"  So  impossible  is  it,"  Kelwyn  interposed,  "  for  a 
woman  to  enter  into  any  question  of  sociology." 

"  But  if  he  were  your  son,  Cousin  Elmer  ?" 

"  Ah,  there  we  have  the  personal  appeal,  the  in 
evitable  womanly,  at  once.  Boys,"  he  called  to  his 
children,  "  did  you  know  that  Arthur  was  taking  his 
mother's  pies  and  feeding  them  to  the  man  and  the 
bear?" 

"  Yes,  papa,"  they  answered,  cheerfully,  in  their 
succession. 

"And  why  didn't  you  tell  us?"  their  mother  put 
in;  she  had  now  joined  the  group  before  the  house. 
"  Didn't  you  know  it  was  wrong  for  Arthur  to  take 
his  mother's  pies  ?  Why  didn't  you  tell  your  father  ?" 

"  He  said  the  bear  would  eat  us,"  the  boys  explained 
with  full  confidence  in  their  justification. 

250 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

"  It  seems  to  have  been  very  simple,"  Kelwyn 
said  to  his  wife.  He  turned  again  to  his  children. 
"  Did  Arthur  say  why  he  was  taking  the  pies  to  the 
bear-man  ?" 

"  He  said  he  was  going  to  run  away  with  the  man 
when  lie  got  well  V 

"  Ah,  that's  simpler  still,"  Kelwyn  said,  and  when 
his  children  entreated  him,  "  May  we  go  and  play  with 
Arthur  ?"  he  answered,  "  Yes  —  provisionally  —  you 
may." 

The  case  had  passed  beyond  Mrs.  Kelwyn's  pro 
tests;  but  she  found  solace  in  the  thought  that  they 
were  playing  with  Arthur  for  the  last  time.  Mrs. 
Kite  went  into  the  house  with  another  promise  to  give 
it  to  her  son,  and  Parthenope  said  to  Kelwyn :  "  If 
you  are  joking,  I  am  sure  I'm  not,  and  I  approve  of 
what  Arthur  did.  He  couldn't  let  the  creatures  starve. 
What  do  you  think,  Elder  Nathaniel?"  she  turned  to 
the  Shaker,  who  had  stood  by,  a  silent  witness. 

"  Nay,  it  is  hard  dealing  with  children ;  they  must 
be  judged  according  to  their  limited  experience." 

"  Well,  let  us  hope  we  shall  be  judged  according  to 
our  limited  experience,  too,"  Kelwyn  ended  the  in 
quiry. 

Elder  Nathaniel  now  took  leave  of  the  Kelwyns,  so 
sadly  and  sweetly  that  they  all  felt  a  premature  home 
sickness  at  their  parting.  "  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "  that 
you  are  not  going  to  stay  and  help  us  put  the  Kites  out 
of  the  house.  We  shall  surely  not  let  them  remain," 
he  ended,  severely. 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  turn  them  out  now,"  Kelwyn  said. 
"  At  least,  not  for  anything  we've  suffered.  The  few 
weeks  we've  been  here  do  seem  rather  more  like  months, 
but  it  hasn't  been  all  suffering,  by  any  means.  It's  been, 
in  some  respects,  highly  educational ;  at  least,  it's  been 
17  251 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

instructive.  I  shall  understand  the  sociology  of  the 
present,  if  not  of  the  past,  the  better  for  my  experience 
of  the  Kites.  They  seem  a  reversion  to  a  type  ante 
dating  Puritanism,  which  I  couldn't  imagine  finding  in 
New  England." 

"  Yee,  that  is  interesting,"  Elder  Nathaniel  assented, 
and  they  had  some  moments  of  philosophy,  which  Mrs. 
Kelwyn  interrupted  with  hospitable  insistances  that  the 
Elder  should  stay  to  dinner,  and  so  drove  him  away. 

Mrs.  Ager  came  over  again  from  her  house  with 
some  little  cakes  she  had  baked  for  provisioning  the 
boys  on  their  journey  to  their  new  home,  and  she  be 
stowed  them  on  Mrs.  Kelwyn  with  assurances,  inten 
tionally  loud  enough  for  Mrs.  Kite  to  hear  in  her 
kitchen,  that  they  were  not  made  with  rancid  butter 
or  milk  not  fit  for  the  pigs.  She  wrought  herself  into 
such  a  generous  rage  that  she  forgot  to  say  good-bye, 
and  had  to  shout  her  farewell  from  her  own  door  when 
she  got  home. 

"  Ain't  she  great  ?"  Mrs.  Kite  asked,  with  humorous 
appreciation,  as  she  came  forward  to  the  Kelwyns. 
"  Well,  I  guess  your  dinner's  ready  for  you,  if  you 
are.  I'll  bring  it  right  in." 

They  had  a  gayer  meal  than  they  had  enjoyed  since 
Parthenope  and  Emerance  had  first  sat  down  with 
them,  and  their  pleasure  in  it  was  not  blighted  by  the 
skill  of  Mrs.  Kite.  There  was  no  perceptible  change 
for  the  better,  either  in  the  material  or  its  treatment; 
but  it  was  offered  with  a  good-will  and  a  regret  that 
went  far  to  supplement  the  stores  of  their  own  pro 
vision;  and  something  like  affection  for  the  unteach- 
able  amiability  of  the  woman  qualified  their  sense  of 
her  final  impossibility. 

The  Kelwyns  were  naturally  much  distracted  from 
their  victual  by  the  anomalous  aspect  of  the  situation 

252 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

through,  the  novel  relation  of  Parthenope  and  Emer- 
ance  to  it.  Having  once  firmly  agreed  with  Parthenope 
that  the  relation  was  absolutely  non-existent  till  it  had 
been  submitted  to  her  aunt  Julia  and  received  her 
perfect,  her  even  eager  approval,  Mrs.  Kelwyn  made 
such  concession  to  it  as  to  propose  putting  the  young 
people  together  at  the  table.  Parthenope  rejected  the 
notion,  but  when  the  boys  had  early  excused  themselves 
their  father  opened  a  small  bottle  of  currant  wine  the 
Shaker  sisters  had  given  him,  and  proposed  a  toast 
significantly  impersonal,  "  To  the  Future." 

Before  they  left  the  table  Benson's  team  appeared 
under  their  windows,  and  the  two  men  had  to  go  down 
and  load  it  with  the  trunks  and  boxes  which  had  al 
ready  been  gathered  in  the  hallway  below.  They 
shared  this  labor  with  Eaney  and  with  Kite,  who  had 
stayed  from  his  harvest  in  a  conception  of  duty  to 
his  parting  guests.  Mrs.  Kite  cordially,  almost  ten 
derly,  joined  Mrs.  Kelwyn  and  Parthenope  in  wash 
ing  and  packing  the  china  and  silver  which  belonged 
to  the  Kelwyns ;  she  paused  to  say  that  she  guessed  she 
would  not  find  anybody  like  them  very  soon. 

When  all  was  done,  it  appeared  that  Benson  had  not 
judged  it  necessary  to  stay  and  drive  his  wagon  to  the 
stone  cottage,  since  Emerance,  in  all  probability,  could 
be  trusted  to  do  so,  and  to  bring  it  back  to  him  when 
it  was  unloaded.  As  it  stood,  finally,  the  wagon  was 
so  heaped  with  freight  that  the  whole  family  could  not 
hope  to  find  transportation  on  it.  It  did  not  help  that 
the  Kelwyn  boys  were  nowhere  to  be  found.  But  when 
they  had  been  looked  for  everywhere,  they  came  run 
ning  from  the  pasture,  where  they  were  seen  afar  in 
a  distress  that  was  not  at  first  intelligible  even  when 
they  came  within  hearing. 

"  He's  dead,  papa !  He's  dead,  papa !"  they  called ; 
253 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

but,  as  they  were  visibly  followed  at  a  discreet  interval 
by  the  Kite  boy,  it  could  not  be  his  death  which  they 
were  lamenting,  and  when  Francy  had  been  twitched 
into  coherence  by  his  mother  he  sobbed  out,  "  We 
wanted  to  ride  him  to  the  new  house,  and  now  he's 
dead  in  the  pasture  and  we  can't  ride  him." 

"  We  can't  r-i-i-de  him,"  Carl  corroborated  the  re 
port  with  tears. 

"Who's  dead?  What's  dead?  What  can't  you 
ride?"  their  mother  demanded. 

"  The  horse !"  they  roared  together.  "  The  old,  white 
one  that  Arthur  give  us." 

"  Well,  stop  crying,"  their  father  intervened,  "  and 
don't  say  '  give '  us ;  I've  told  you  before.  Of  course 
you  can't  ride  him  if  he's  dead  and  you  want  to  go 
anywhere." 

Arthur  Kite  arrived  on  the  scene.  "  Guess  he  must 
'a'  died  in  the  night,"  he  explained,  importantly. 

"  And  what  are  we  going  to  do-o-o  ?"  the  little  Kel- 
wyns  wailed;  and  then,  as  from  an  inspiration,  their 
eyes  flashed  hopefully  through  their  tears.  "  Oh,  may 
we  ride  on  top  of  the  trunks,  papa?"  Francy  asked, 
and,  "  May  we  ride  on  the  trunks,  mamma  ?"  Carl 
slightly  varied  him. 

"  I  don't  see  how  we're  all  going  to  ride  on  the 
trunks,"  Kelwyn  remarked,  after  a  critical  glance  at 
the  load. 

"  Guess  ye  won't  have  to,"  Kite  said,  turning  his 
back  on  Kelwyn  for  a  better  effect  of  politeness. 
"  Raney's  got  the  carryall  hitched  up,  and  he'll  take 
ye  over." 

It  was  easy  to  be  ungracious  with  Kite,  and  Kelwyn 
was  aware  of  being  so.  "  Very  well ;  we  shall  have  to 
accept  your  offer.  What  shall  I  pay  you  ?" 

"You  don't  want  to  pay  me  anything,"  Kite  said, 

254 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

moving  away  to  his  own  door  and  leaving  Kelwyn  to 
settle  with  himself  what  he  should  pay  Raney. 

The  question  which  pair  should  go  with  the  baggage 
and  which  should  go  in  the  carryall  was  determined 
by  Parthenope,  who  ordered  Emerance  to  find  safe 
perches  for  the  Kelwyn  boys,  and  then  mounted  on  her 
own  trunk,  which  had  been  put  on  in  front,  and,  when 
all  was  ready,  bade  Emerance  get  up  beside  her.  If 
she  had  come  into  her  empire  with  misgiving,  she  ruled 
it  with  none;  all  the  morning  she  had  commanded  him 
in  the  successive  details;  the  shadow  of  old-maidhood 
which  had  once  hovered  near  her  had  vanished  in  the 
radiant  sense  of  her  matronly  power  over  the  man 
whom  she  was  treating  already  like  a  lifelong  vassal, 
and  who  submitted  gladly  to  her  commands.  There 
had  been  a  moment  when  she  questioned,  in  the  warmth 
of  her  feelings,  whether  she  should  not  kiss  Mrs.  Kite 
in  taking  leave ;  but  finally  she  decided  not,  and  shook 
hands  with  her  as  if  she  had  been  taking  leave  of  a 
society  hostess. 

"  Now  you  come  over  and  see  me,"  she  charged  the 
girl,  who  answered : 

"  I  should  like  to,  Mrs.  Kite,  but  I'm  going  up  to 
Boston  on  Saturday,  and  I  don't  believe  there'll  be 
time.  But  I  sha'n't  forget  you,  you  may  be  sure." 

The  Kelwyns  said  much  the  same,  except  that  they 
would  stop  some  day  when  they  were  passing;  and 
Mrs.  Kite,  on  her  part,  offered  to  look  them  up.  There 
was  no  leave-taking  with  Kite,  but  at  the  last  moment 
there  was  a  loud  cry  from  the  Kelwyn  boys. 

"  We  haven't  said  good-bye  to  Arthur !"  Their  be 
lated  remembrance  of  him  did  not  visibly  move  their 
stoical  comrade  as  he  stood  beside  his  mother. 

"  Well,  say  it,  then,"  their  father  said,  impatiently, 
and  Parthenope  suggested  that  Arthur  should  climb  up 

255 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

and  say  good-bye  to  them.  But  her  plan  did  not  satisfy 
the  boys'  ideal  of  friendship,  and  Emerance  ended  it  by 
jumping  from  his  place  and  lifting  them  down. 

It  appeared  then  that  they  wished  to  kiss  Arthur, 
who  took  their  embrace  as  if  that  kind  of  thing  had 
never  happened  to  him  before,  while  his  mother  said, 
with  amusement,  "  Well,  the  land !"  Francy,  with  per 
mission,  gave  him  his  knife  for  a  keepsake,  and  Carl 
gave  him  a  piece  of  lead-pencil.  He,  in  his  turn,  gave 
them  a  small  mud-turtle,  which  had  survived  captivity 
in  the  accumulations  of  his  pocket;  they  were  to  share 
it  between  them  as  a  souvenir,  and  feed  it  with  earth 
worms  if  it  could  be  got  to  eat  them. 

Emerance  now  put  the  boys,  still  calling  their  good 
byes  to  their  stolid  comrade,  into  their  places  and  took 
his  own  place  beside  Parthenope.  Then,  with  a  back 
ward  look  at  the  Kelwyns,  to  see  that  she  was  not  seen, 
she  passed  one  hand  through  his  arm  and  locked  it  into 
the  other. 

"  Can  you  drive  if  I  do  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  will  make  the  experiment,"  he  answered,  with  his 
head  bent  low  toward  her. 

"  And  are  you  happy  ?"  she  murmured,  tenderly. 
"  As  happy  as  you  expected  to  be  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  sighed.  "  If  Professor  Kelwyn  had 
put  those  people  out  of  the  house  I'm  afraid  he  would 
have  had  a  lifelong  regret.  But  now,  in  going  himself, 
in  owning  defeat  at  the  hands  of  fate,  he's  won  a  vic 
tory  that  will  always  be  a  joy  to  him.  I'm  so  glad 
for  him." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  sinking  a  little  from  Emerance. 
But  she  pulled  herself  back  with  a  sublime  resolution 
never  to  let  him  know  her  disappointment.  After  all, 
was  not  it  finer,  his  not  thinking  of  themselves,  or  of 
their  selfish  happiness,  at  this  supreme  moment  ?  Could 

256 


THE  VACATION  OF  THE  KELWYNS 

she  stand  so  much  impersonality  through  life,  though? 
She  decided  that  she  could,  and  she  said,  bravely: 
"  Oh,  do  go  on,  Ellihu,"  and  at  her  bidding  he  chir 
ruped  to  Benson's  horses,  which  moved  obediently,  while 
she  pushed  still  closer  to  him.  "  Well,  now  we've 
started  in  life  together !" 

Mrs.  Kelwyn  could  not  say  quite  the  same  of  her 
self  and  her  husband,  but  she  felt  as  if  she  were  almost 
beginning  the  world  again,  she  was  so  richly  content  to 
be  leaving  her  recent  experience  wholly  behind  her. 
She  was  therefore  vexed  the  more  with  Kelwyn  when 
he  broke  from  a  vague  silence  to  say  vaguely  as  if  con 
tinuing  aloud  an  inner  strain  of  thinking : 

"  I  suppose  I  might  have  been  more  patient,  though 
whether  with  the  patience  of  Job  we  could  ever  have 
brought  them  to  our  point  of  view,  taught  them  any 
thing  ?  But  oughtn't  we  to  have  tried  harder  ?" 

His  wife  knew  what  he  meant.  "  You  think  I  ought 
to  have  gone  into  the  kitchen  and  labored  with  her? 
Mr.  Emerance  did  that  and  you  saw  what  it  came  to." 

"  Oh  yes,  you're  right.  But  I  wish  I  had  a  better 
conscience  in  it  all.  It  doesn't  seem  my  private  debt 
that  troubles  me,  but  my  private  portion  of  the  public 
debt  which  we  all  somehow  owe  to  the  incapable,  the 
inadequate,  the—the — shiftless." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  Mrs.  Kelwyn  said,  with  the  effect 
of  renunciation  which  seldom  failed  to  dismay  Kelwyn. 
"  If  you  are  going  to  put  that  into  your  lectures  you 
will  lose  all  your  influence." 

He  laughed  sadly.  "  Then  I  won't  do  it.  If  I  can't 
exert  my  influence  without  losing  it  I  won't  exert  it." 
The  notion  pleased  him,  and  now  he  laughed  cheerfully. 

THE    END 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


• 

' 

..    .-. 

Utl'I  1    ,   ice,. 

NUV17  1974  • 

f 

% 

IK  STACKS 

MAY  r>  a  fn~7T 

OCT23 

PT       NOV      5'M 

HI  g  c  iy/7 

x~ 

JAW  OS  1990 

wMIM  v  u    ivou 

WOV  1  0  1S39 

LD  21A-60m-4,'64 
(E4555slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


IVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


